e 


MESA  TRAl 


H  BEDFORD -J  ONES 


His  blazing  black  eyes  stared  into  the  gaze  of  Ross 


THE  MESA  TRAIL 


BY 

H.  BEDFORD-JONES 


GARDEN    CITY  NEW    YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

19  20 


COPYRIGHT,    1920,   BY 

DOUBLEDAY,    PAGE   &   COMPANY 

ALL   BIGHTS   BESEBYED,    INCLUDING   THAT   OF 

TBANSLATION   INTO   FOBEIGN   LANGUAGES, 

INCLUDING   THE   SCANDINAVIAN 


COPYWGHT,  19 1 9,  BT  STREET  &  SMITH  COSPOSATION 


%l 


/* 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


I.  The  Man  Who  Had  Been 3 

II.  Thady  Shea  Encounters  Purpose  .    .  16 

III.  Coravel  Tio  Enjoys  a  Busy  Morning  £9 

IV.  Mrs.  Crump  Heads  Southwest  ...  42 
V.  The  Ambition  of  Mackjntavers    .     .  54 

VI.  Thady  Shea  Smells  Whiskey.     ...  66 

VII.  Thady  Shea  Has  a  Visitor      ....  84 

VIII.  Dorales  Goes  to  Town 99 

IX.  The  Wticker  Demijohn 113 

X.  Mrs.  Crump  Says  Something  ....  129 

XI.  Thady  Shea  Discovers  a  Purpose  .    .  145 

XII.  The  Stone  Gods  Vanish 157 

XIII.  Thady  Shea  Starts  Home 171 

XIV.  Dorales  Kills 187 

XV.  Mackintavers  Makes  Friends   .     .     .  202 

XVI.  Dorales  Posts  Notices 217 

XVII.  Dorales  Runs  Away 232 


M578541 


THE  MESA  TRAIL 


THE  MESA  TRAIL 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  MAN  WHO   HAD  BEEN 

A  RIBBON  of  winding  road  leads  northeast 
from  the  pueblo  of  Domingo  and  the 
snaky  Bajada  hiU  where  gray  rocks  lie 
thickly;  it  is  a  yellowish  ribbon  of  road,  sweeping 
over  the  gigantic  mesa  toward  Santa  Fe  and  the 
sweetly  glowing  Blood  of  Christ  peaks — great 
peaks  of  green  spearing  into  the  sky,  white- 
crested,  and  tipped  with  blood  at  sunset. 

Along  this  ribbon  of  dusty  yellow  road  was 
crawling  a  flivver.  It  was  crawling  slowly,  in  a 
jerky  series  of  advances  and  pauses;  as  it  crept 
along  its  intermittent  course,  the  woman  who  sat 
behind  the  wheel  was  cursing  her  iron  steed  in  a 
thorough  and  heartfelt  manner. 

Both  in  flivver  and  woman  was  that  which  fired 
curious  interest.  The  rear  of  the  car  was  piled 
high  with  boxes  and  luggage;  certain  of  the  boxes 
were  marked  "Explosives — Handle  With  Care!" 
Prominent  among  this  freight  was  a  burlap  sack 

3 


4  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

tied  about  the  neck  and  firmly  roped  to  one  of  the 
top  supports  of  the  car. 

The  woman  was  garbed  in  ragged  but  neat 
khaki.  From  beneath  the  edges  of  an  old- 
fashioned  bonnet,  tied  beneath  the  chin,  protruded 
wisps  of  grayish  hair,  like  an  aureole  of  silver. 
The  woman  herself  was  of  strikingly  large  frame 
and  great  in  girth;  her  arms,  bare  to  the  elbows, 
were  huge  in  size.  Yet  this  giantess  was  not  un- 
healthily fat.  Hardened  by  toil,  her  hands  were 
gripped  carefully  upon  the  steering  wheel  as  though 
she  were  in  some  fear  of  wrenching  it  asunder  in  an 
unguarded  moment. 

Her  features  were  large,  sun-darkened,  creased 
and  seamed  with  crow's-feet  that  betokened  long 
exposure  to  wind  and  weather.  Ever  and  anon 
she  drew,  with  manifest  enjoyment,  at  an  old 
brown  corncob  pipe.  Above  her  firm  lips  and 
beak-like  nose  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  struck  out  gaily 
and  keenly  at  the  world;  eyes  of  a  piercing,  in- 
tense blue,  whose  brilliancy,  as  of  living  jewels,  gave 
the  He  to  their  surrounding  tokens  of  toil  and  age. 

"Drat  it!"  she  burst  forth,  after  a  new  bucking 
endeavour  on  the  part  of  the  car.  "If  I  was  to 
shoot  this  damned  thing  through  the  innards, 
maybe  she'd  quit  sunfishin'  on  me!  I'm  goin'  to 
sell  her  to  Santy  Fe  sure's  shooting;  I'll  get  me  a 
pair  o'  mules  and  a  wagon,  then  I'll  know  what  I'm 
doing.  Dunno  howcome  I  ever  was  roped  into 
buying  this  here  contraption " 


THE  MAN  WHO  HAD  BEEN  5 

She  suddenly  halted  her  observations.  Laying 
aside  her  pipe  and  peering  out  from  the  side  of  the 
dusty  windshield,  her  keen  eyes  narrowed  upon  the 
road  ahead. 

Against  that  yellowish  ribbon,  with  its  bordering 
emptiness  of  mesquite,  greasewood,  and  sage, 
there  was  nothing  moving;  but  squarely  in  the 
centre  of  the  road  showed  up  a  dark,  motion- 
less blotch.  It  was  the  figure  of  a  man  lying  as 
though  asleep.  No  man  would  or  could  lie  asleep 
in  the  middle  of  this  road,  however,  under  the 
withering  blaze  of  the  downpouring  New  Mexico 
sun. 

Suddenly  the  fitful  flivver  coughed  under  more 
gas;  it  roared,  bucked,  darted  ahead,  bucked  again, 
and  a  dozen  yards  from  the  prostrate  man  it  went 
leaping  forward  as  though  impelled  by  vindictive 
spite  to  run  over  the  motionless  figure.  The  woman 
swore  savagely.  She  seemed  inexperienced  as  a 
chauffeuse;  only  by  a  hair's  breadth  did  she  man- 
age to  avoid  the  man,  and  then  she  stopped  the 
car. 

Her  great  size  became  more  apparent  as  she 
alighted.  Standing,  she  gazed  down  at  the  man, 
then  leaned  forward  and  turned  the  unfortunate 
vagrant  upon  his  back.  The  body  was  listless  to 
her  hand,  the  head  lolled  idly. 

"Hm!"  said  the  woman,  reflectively.  "Ain't 
drunk.     Ain't  hurt.     Hm!" 

She  reached  into  the  car  and  produced  a  whiskey 


6  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

flask,  then  sat  down  in  the  dust  and  took  upon  her 
ample  lap  the  Tiead  of  the  senseless  man.  A 
sudden  deftness  became  manifest  in  her  motions, 
an  unguessed  tenderness  relieved  the  harshness  of 
her  features. 

"This  here  is  breakin'  the  law,"  she  ruminated, 
pouring  liquor  between  the  lips  of  the  vagrant, 
"but  it  ain't  the  first  time  Mehitabel  Crump  has 
broke  laws  to  help  some  poor  devil !  Hm !  Looks 
to  me  like  he  ain't  et  for  quite  a  spell." 

With  increasing  interest  she  surveyed  the 
slowly  reviving  stranger. 

He  was  fully  as  lank  as  she  was  stout,  and  must 
have  stood  a  good  six  foot  two  in  height.  His 
clothes  were  tattered  remnants  of  once  sober 
black.  Long  locks  of  iron-gray  hair  hung  about 
his  ears.  His  features  were  careworn  and  haggard, 
yet  in  them  lingered  some  indefinable  suggestion  of 
fine  lines  and  deeply  carven  strength.  Had 
Mehitabel  Crump  ever  viewed  Sir  Henry  Irving — 
which  she  had  not — she  might  have  guessed  a  few 
things  about  her  "find." 

Suddenly  the  eyes,  the  intensely  black  eyes,  of 
the  man  opened.     So  did  his  lips. 

"Angels  and  ministers  of  grace!"  His  voice, 
although  faint,  was  touched  with  a  deep  intona- 
tion, a  roundness  of  the  vowels,  a  clarity  of  accent. 
"As  I  do  five  and  breathe,  it  is  the  kiss  of  lordly 
Bacchus  which  doth  welcome  me!" 

"Take    it    calm,"   advised   Mehitabel   Crump, 


THE  MAN  WHO  HAD  BEEN  7 

pityingly.  "You'll  have  your  right  sense  pretty 
soon.  Many's  the  time  I've  seen  Crump  keeled 
over,  and  come  to  with  his  mind  awandering. 
Jest  take  it  calm,  pilgrim.  I'll  have  a  bite  o' 
cornbread " 

She  lowered  his  head  to  the  dust,  rose,  and  went 
to  the  flivver.  Presently  she  returned  with  a  slab 
of  cold  cornbread  divided  by  bacon,  and  a  desert 
water  bottle. 

"Heaps  o'  lunch  in  the  car/'  She  aided  the 
gaunt  one  to  sit  up,  and  he  clutched  at  the  food 
feverishly.  "My  land!  Ain  t  et  real  frequent 
lately,  have  ye?" 

The  man,  his  mouth  full,  shook  his  head  dumbly. 
About  his  eyes  was  a  brilliancy  which  told  of  sheer 
starvation.  To  the  full  as  worldly  wise  as  any 
person  in  broad  New  Mexico,  the  woman  asked  no 
questions  as  yet;  she  procured  from  the  car  a 
basket  which  contained  the  remainder  of  her 
luncheon,  and  set  forth  the  contents. 

"Figgered  I  might  get  held  up  'fore  reaching 
Santy  Fe.  If  it  warn't  that  dratted  car,  it  sure 
would  be  something  else,  which  same  it  is. 
Damned  good  luck  it  ain't  worse,  as  Crump  used 
to  say  when  Providence  went  agin'  him." 

She  observed  that  the  stranger  ate  ravenously, 
but  drank  sparingly.  Not  thirst  had  downed  him, 
but  starvation. 

He  seemed  startled  at  her  disconcertingly  frank 
manner  of  speech.     She  put  him  down  as  some- 


8  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

thing  better  than  an  ordinary  hobo;  an  out -of -luck 
Easterner,  possibly  a  lunger.  He  was  fifty  or  so; 
with  decent  clothes,  a  shave,  and  a  haircut,  he 
might  be  a  striking-looking  fellow,  she  decided. 
Although  he  had  a  hard  mouth,  what  Mehrtabel 
Crump  had  learned  to  know  as  a  whiskey  mouth, 
it  was  steady  lipped. 

"You  sure  played  in  tough  luck  comin'  this 
road,"  she  sa'd,  musingly.  "So  did  I.  Ain't 
nothing  between  here  and  Santy  Fe  'cept  Injuns, 
greasers,  and  rattlers,  any  one  of  which  is  worse'n 
the  other  two.  These  rocks  is  playin'  hell  with  my 
tires  and  the  old  Henry  is  coughin'  fit  to  bust  her 
innards.  If  I  find  the  feller  who  sold  her  to  me, 
I'd  sure  lay  him  one  over  the  ear!" 

Her  s  mple  meal  finished,  she  began  to  stuff  her 
corncob  pipe.  The  man,  still  eating  wolfishly, 
watched  her  with  fascinated  eyes.  She  gazed  out 
at  the  snowy,  sun-flooded  Sangre  de  Cristo  peaks 
and  continued  her  soliloquy.  When  it  suited  her, 
Mehitabel  Crump  could  be  very  garrulous;  and 
when  it  suited  her,  she  could  be  as  taciturn  as  the 
mountains  themselves. 

"I  ain't  surprised  at  nothing  no  more,  not  these 
days.  No,  sir!  When  I  first  come  to  this  country 
you  knowed  just  what  ye  had  to  reckon  agin'. 
They  was  Injuns  to  fight,  greasers  to  work  devil- 
ment, claim  jumpers  to  rob  ye,  and  such.  But 
now  the  Injuns  is  all  towerist  peddlers,  the  greasers 
is  called  'natives'  and  runs  the  courts  an'  legis- 


THE  MAN  WHO  HAD  BEEN  9 

lature,  and  gun  tot!ng  ain't  popular.  A  lone 
woman  gets  skinned  plumb  legal,  when  in  the  old 
days  it  would  ha'  been  suicide  to  rob  a  female. 
Yes,  pilgrim,  set  right  in  at  what's  left,  and  don't 
bother  to  talk  yet  a  spell." 

She  touched  a  match  to  her  pipe,  broke  the 
match,  tossed  it  away. 

"If  Crump  hadn't  bio  wed  up  with  a  dry  fuse  in 
a  shaft  we  was  sinking  over  in  the  Mogollons, 
where  we  was  prospecting  at  the  time,  he'd  be 
plumb  astonished  at  the  changes.  Yes,  and  I  bet 
he'd  swear  to  see  me  driving  one  of  them  contrap- 
tions yonder !  Poor  Crump,  I  never  had  the  heart 
to  dig  him  up,  though  it  was  a  right  smart  prospect 
we  was  workin'.  But  somehow  I  couldn't  never 
work  that  claim,  with  him  still  in  it  that-a-way. 
I  won't  need  the  money,  neither,  if  I've  got  hold 
of " 

She  paused.  Her  gaze  went  to  the  devouring 
stranger.     Abruptly  she  changed  the  subject. 

"You  don't  look  like  you  was  much  more'n  a 
poor,  innercent  pilgrim  without  any  brains  to 
mention.  Yet,  stranger,  I'd  gamble  that  we'd 
stack  up  high  in  morals  agin'  such  old-timers  as 
Abel  Dorales,  him  what's  lialf  greaser  and  half 
Mormon,  or  old  Sandy  Mackintavers,  what  come 
straight  from  Scotland  to  Arizony  and  made  a 
forchin  in  thirty  years  of  thieving!  Yes,  I  reckon 
ye've  got  a  streak  of  real  pay  dirt  in  ye,  stranger. 
And  if  I  can't  tell  what  breed  o'  cattle  a  man  is  by 


10  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

jest  looking  at  him,  it's  a  queer  thing!  I've 
knowed  'em  all." 

The  complimented  pilgrim  bolted  the  last  scrap 
of  food  in  sight,  raised  the  canvas  bag  to  his  lips, 
and  drank.  Sighing,  he  wiped  his  lips  with  the 
frayed  cuff  of  his  sleeve.  Then  he  disentangled 
his  long  legs  and  rose.  One  hand  upon  his  heart, 
the  other  flourished  magnificently,  he  made  a 
bow  that  was  the  piteous  ghost  of  a  perished 
grandeur. 

"Madam!"  His  voice  rang  out  firmly  now,  a 
deep  and  sonorous  bass.  "Madam,  I  thank  you! 
In  me  you  behold  one  who  has  received  the  plaudits 
of  thousands,  one  who  has  bowed  to  the  thunderous 
acclaim  of " 

"What  d'ye  say  your  name  was?"  snapped 
Mehitabel  Crump.  Her  voice  was  suddenly  acid, 
her  blue  eyes  ice.  The  other  was  manifestly 
disconcerted  by  her  change  of  front. 

"Madam,  I  am  familiarly  known  as  Thaddeus 
Roscius  Shea.  Under  the  more  imposing  title  of 
Montalembert  I  have  made  known  to  thousands 
the  aspiring  genius  of  the  immortal  Avonian  bard. 
I  avow  it,  madam — I  am  a  Thespian!  I  suit  the 
action  to  the  word,  the  word  to  the  action " 

"Huh!"  cut  in  his  audience  with  a  ruthless  lack 
of  awe.  "Huh!  Never  heard  of  them  Thespians, 
but  likely  it's  a  new  Mormon  sect.  I  knowed  a 
man  of  your  name  down  to  Silver  City  twelve 
year  back;  this  Thady  Shea  was  a  good  fightin' 


THE  MAN  WHO  HAD  BEEN  11 

man,  with  one  eye  and  a  harelip.  Glad  to  meet  ye, 
pilgrim!  I'm  Mehitabel  Crump,  with  Mrs.  for  a 
handle." 

Something  in  her  manner  seemed  mightily  to 
embarrass  Mr.  Shea,  but  he  took  a  fresh  start  and 
set  forth  to  conquer  the  difficulty. 

"Madam,  a  Thespian  is  of  no  religious  per- 
suasion, but  one  who  treads  the  boards  and  who 
wears  the  buskin  of  Thespis.  You  behold  in  me 
the  first  tragedian  of  the  age.  My  Hamlet, 
madam,  has  been  praised  by  discerning  critics  from 
Medicine  Hat  to  Jersey  City.  The  accursed 
moving  pictures  have  ruined  my  art. 

"Oh!  It's  usually  whiskey  or  woman,"  said 
Mrs.  Crump,  her  eyes  ominous.  "So  you're  a 
stage  actor,  eh?     Then  that  explains  it." 

"Explains,  madam?  Explains  what?"  faltered 
Shea,  sensing  a  gathering  storm. 

"Your  damn  foolishness.  Shake  it  off,  ye  poor 
hobo !  I  no  sooner  hands  ye  a  bit  o'  kindness  than 
it  swells  ye  up  like  a  balloon.  Now,  don't  you  get 
gay  with  me,  savvy?  Don't  come  none  o'  that 
high-falutin'  talk  with  me,  or  by  hell  I'll  paralyze 
ye!  I  did  think  for  a  minute  that  ye  had  the 
makin's  of  a  man,  but  I  apologize." 

The  blue  eyes  turned  away.  Had  Shea  been 
able  to  see  them,  he  might  have  read  in  them  a 
look  that  did  not  correspond  to  Mrs.  Crump's 
spoken  word.     But  he  did  not  see  them. 

He  turned  away  from  the  woman.     The  carven 


12  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

lines  of  his  face  deepened,  aged,  as  from  him  was 
rent  the  veil  of  his  posturing.  A  weary  and  hope- 
less sadness  welled  in  his  eyes;  the  sadness  of  one 
who  beholds  around  him  the  wreckage  of  all  his 
little  world,  brought  down  to  ruin  by  his  own 
faults.  When  he  spoke,  it  was  with  the  same 
sonorous  voice,  yet  lacking  the  fine  rolling  accent. 

"You  are  right,  Mrs.  Crump,  you  are  right. 
God  help  me!  I,  who  was  once  a  man,  am  now 
less  than  the  very  dust.  Your  harshness  is 
justified.  At  this  time  yesterday,  madam,  I  was 
a  wretched  drunken  fool,  spouting  lines  of  rhetoric 
in  Albuquerque.'* 

"I'm  surprised  at  that,"  said  Mrs.  Crump. 
'"How'd  ye  get  the  liquor,  since  this  here  state  an* 
nation  ain't  particularly  wet  no  more?  And  how 
ye  got  here  from  Albuquerque  I  don't  figger." 

"It  is  simply  told."  From  the  miserable  Shea 
was  stripped  the  last  vestige  of  his  punctured 
pose.  "Twenty  years  ago  my  young  wife  died, 
and  I  started  upon  the  whiskey  trail;  it  has  led 
me — here.  Yesterday  I  came  into  Albuquerque, 
starving.  At  the  railroad  station,  amid  some — er 
— confusion,  I  encountered  a  company  of  those 
imotion  picture  men  who  dare  to  call  themselves 
actors.  So  far  was  my  pride  broken  that  I  begged 
of  them  help  in  the  name  and  memory  of  The 
Profession." 

Shea  emphatically  capitalized  these  last  two 
words. 


THE  MAN  ^YHO  HAD  BEEN  13 

"They  took  me  aboard  their  train,"  he  pursued, 
u  and  I  was  given  drink.  Some  controversy  arose, 
I  know  not  how;  I  found  myself  ignominiously 
ejected  from  the  train.  I  walked,  not  knowing 
nor  caring  whither.  Nor  is  that  all,  madam.  I 
am  a  fugitive  from  justice !" 

"Broke  jail?"  queried  Mrs.  Crump,  betraying 
signs  of  interest. 

"Xo,  madam.  In  Albuquerque  I  was  starving 
and  desperate.  I — I  stole  fruit  and — sandwiches 
— from  a  railroad  stand." 

His  voice  failed.  He  turned  away,  staring  at 
the  snowy  peaks  as  though  awaiting  a  verdict. 

"Pretty  lowdown  and  worthless,  ain't  ye?" 
Mrs.  Crump  checked  herself  suddenly,  glancing 
at  the  yellow  ribbon  of  road  over  which  she  had  so 
recently  come.  A  flying  cloud  of  dust  gave  notice 
of  the  approach  of  a  large  automobile. 

Suddenly  rising,  Mrs.  Crump  knocked  out  her 
pipe,  then  caught  Shea  by  the  shoulder.  Her  hand 
swung  him  about  as  though  he  were  a  child.  His 
eyes  widened  in  surprise  upon  meeting  the  warm 
regard  in  her  face,  the  steady  and  sympathetic 
smile  upon  her  lips. 

"Thady,"  she  said,  bluntly,  "how  old  are  ye?" 

"Fifty-eight,"   he   mumbled    in    astonishment. 

"Huh!  Two  year  older'n  me.  Made  a  mess 
of  your  life,  ain't  ye?  Don't  know  as  I  blame  ye 
none,  Thady.  When  Crump  passed  out,  I  come 
near  thro  win'  up  the  sponge;  but  I  got  to  fightin' 


14  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

and  I  been  fightin'  ever  since,  and  here  I  ami 
Now,  Thady,  you  got  strength  and  you  got  guts; 
I  can  see  it  in  your  eye.  All  ye  need  is  backbone. 
Why  don't  ye  buck  up?" 

"I've  tried,"  he  faltered,  controlled  by  her 
personality.     "It's    no    use " 

"You  go  get  in  that  car."  Mrs.  Crump  glanced 
again  at  the  approaching  automobile,  then  half 
flung  the  gaunt  Shea  toward  her  dust-white  flivver. 
"Get  in  and  don't  say  a  word,  savvy?  One  thing 
about  you,  ye  can  be  trusted — which  is  more'n  can 
be  said  for  some  skunks  in  this  here  country !  Get 
in,  now,  and  leave  me  palaver  with  Sheriff  Tracy." 

Shea,  shivering  at  mention  of  the  sheriff, 
jack-Jaiifed  his  length  upon  the  car's  front  seat. 

From  some  mysterious  recess  of  her  ample 
person  Mrs.  Crump  produced  an  immense  old- 
fashioned  revolver,  which  she  began  to  burnish 
with  seeming  absorption.  The  big  automobile 
slowed  up.  It  halted  a  few  feet  behind  the  flivver, 
and  a  hearty  hail  came  forth. 

"By  jingoes,  if  it  ain't  Mis'  Crump!  Hello,  old- 
timer — ain't  seen  you  in  ages!" 

From  the  car  sprang  a  hale  and  vigorous  man 
who  advanced  with  hand  extended. 

"I  kind  o'  thought  it  was  you,  Sam  Tracy,"  said 
Mrs.  Crump.  "Thought  I  recognized  that  there 
car  o'  yours.     How's  the  folks?" 

"All  fine.  And  you?  But  I  needn't  ask — why, 
you  grow  younger  every  month " 


THE  MAN  WHO  HAD  BEEN  15 

"See  here!  What  ye  doin'  over  in  this  county, 
Sam?  Why  don't  ye  get  back  to  Bernalillo  where 
ye  belong?" 

The  sheriff  waved  his  hand. 

"Going  to  Santy  Fe.  I'm  looking  up  a  fellow 
who  came  this  way  from  Albuquerque — a  hobo  and 
sneak  thief  name  o'  Shea.  Where  ye  been  keepin' 
yourself,  ma'am?  It  don't  seem  like  the  same  old 
state  not  to  see  ye  from  time  to  time." 

"Sam  Tracy,"  observed  Mrs.  Crump  with  a  look 
of  severity,  "I've  knowed  you  more  years  than  I 
care  to  reckon  up.  And  you  know  me,  I  guess! 
Now,  Sam,  I  sure  hate  to  do  it — but  I  got  to. 
Stick  up  your  hands,  Sam,  and  do  it  damn 
sudden!" 

The  muzzle  of  her  revolver  poked  the  astounded 
sheriff  in  the  stomach.  For  a  moment  he  gazed 
into  her  shrewd  blue  eyes,  then  slowly  elevated  his 
hands. 

"Are  you  crazy,  ma'am?"  he  demanded. 

She  removed  his  holstered  weapon,  then  lowered 
her  own  and  shook  her  head. 

"Nope.  I'm  heap  sane  right  here  and  now. 
Set  down  and  smoke  whilst  I  explain." 


CHAPTER  n 

THADY  SHEA  ENCOUNTERS  PURPOSE 

YOUR  man  Shea  is  settin'  in  my  car  yonder," 
said  Mrs.  Crump. 
Heedless  of  the  glaring  sun,  she  picked  up 
her  pipe  and  disposed  her  giant  frame  for  converse. 
From  narrowed  lids  the  sheriff  eyed  the  lanky,  up- 
drawn  figure  of  Shea,  which  he  now  noticed  for  the 
first  time.  Then  he  produced  the  "makings"  and 
proceeded  to  roll  a  cigarette. 

"Glad  you  picked  him  up,"  said  he.  "I'll  take 
him  back  with  me." 

"No,  ye  won't,"  retorted  Mrs.  Crump,  calmly. 
"You'll  not  touch  him,  Sam  Tracy." 

"He's  a  thief  and  a  drunkard  and  a  hobo,"  said 
the  sheriff. 

"  If  they  wasn't  no  drinks  to  be  had  in  heaven,  I 
reckon  hell  would  be  majority  choice,"  quoth  the 
lady.  "When  it  comes  to  that,  I've  seen  you 
and  Crump  so  paralyzed  you  couldn't  talk.  There 
was  that  night  down  to  Magdalena  when  the 
railroad  spur  was  finished  and  they  held  a  celebra- 
tion  " 

The  sheriff  grinned.  "No  need  to  argue 
further  along  them  lines,  ma'am.     You  win!" 

16 


THADY  SHEA  ENCOUNTERS  PURPOSE  17 

"I  reckon  I  do,  Sam.  Besides,  you  ain't  got  no 
authority  over  in  this  county.  You  can  run  a, 
bluff  on  ignorant  hoboes  an'  greasers,  but  not  on. 
Mehitabel  Crump!  Your  authority  quit  quite  a. 
ways  back.  Thady  Shea  only  stole  because  he 
was  starving,  which  I'd  do  the  same  in  his  place. 
I  picked  him  up  here  and  I'm  goin'  to  keep  him." 

"You  always  was  soft-hearted,"  reflected  Tracy. 
"Now  you  got  him,  what's  your  programme?" 

Mrs.  Crump  refilled  and  lighted  her  corncob 
with  deliberation,  then  made  response: 

"Sam,  I'm  sure  in  a  thunderin'  bad  pinch. 
Damned  good  luck  it  ain't  worse,  as  Crump  used 
to  say  at  times.  You  know  I  ain't  no  legal  shark, 
huh?  Well,  three  weeks  ago  I  had  a  blamed  good 
hole  in  the  hills,  until  Abel  Dorales  come  along  and 
located  just  below  me.  Then  in  rides  old  Sandy 
Mackintavers  and  offers  a  thousand  even  for  my 
hole,  saying  that  Abel  had  located  the  thrown  apex 
of  my  claim " 

"The  apex  law  don't  obtain  here,"  put  in 
Tracy. 

"I  know  it;  but  who's  goin'  to  argue  with 
Mackintavers?  If  it  wasn't  that,  it'd  be  some- 
thin'  worse.  Anyhow,  he  offered  to  compromise 
and  so  on." 

The  sheriff  nodded.  "I  see  how  you  come  to 
have  the  flivver,"  he  observed,  drily. 

"Yas,  ye  do!"  Mrs.  Crump's  response  was  raw- 
edged.     "If  you  was  the  kind  o'  man  you  used 


18  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

to  be,  ye'd  up  and  give  them  jumpers  a  hemp 
necktie !  But  now  ye  play  politics,  Sam  Tracy,  and 
ye  lick  the  boots  o'  Sandy  Mackintavers " 

"That's  enough,  Mis'  Crump!"  broke  in  the 
sheriff,  icily.  "I  don't  blame  ye  for  feelin'  sore, 
but  the  likes  of  us  can't  fight  Mackintavers  in  the 
courts.  We  ain't  slick  enough!  And  Dorales  is 
a  Mormon-bred  greaser,  than  which  the  devil  ain't 
never  fathered  a  worse  combination.  Now,  Mis' 
Crump,  you  show  me  the  least  excuse  for  doin'  it 
legally,  and  I'll  pump  them  two  men  full  o'  lead 
any  day !    I'm  only  surprised  that  you  didn't  do  it. " 

"I  did."  A  smile  of  grim  satisfaction  wreathed 
the  lady's  firm  lips.  "First  I  took  Sandy's 
money,  then  I  lets  fly.  They  was  several  hired 
greasers  with  Dorales,  and  I  reckon  I  got  two- 
three;  ain't  right  sure.  I  only  got  Abel  glancingly, 
and  when  I  threw  down  on  Sandy  his  arms  was 
both  elevated  for  safety.  All  I  could  decently  do 
was  to  nick  his  ear  so's  he'd  remember  me." 

"You  didn't  kill  Dorales?" 

"Afraid  not."  Mrs.  Crump  sadly  shook  her 
head.  "I  didn't  wait  to  inquire  none,  but  it 
looked  like  I'd  only  blooded  his  shoulder  and  he 
was  layin'  low  to  plug  me  in  the  back,  so  I  belted 
him  over  the  head  with  the  butt,  and  slid  for 
home." 

The  sheriff,  astounded,  emitted  a  long  whistle. 
"Whew-w!"  he  said,  slowly.  "Say,  whereabouts 
did  all  this  happen?" 


THADY  SHEA  ENCOUNTERS  PURPOSE  19 

"Down  the  Mogollons.     Over  Arizony  way." 

"Why  didn't  ye  go  west  into  Arizony,  then? 

After  that  doin's  this  state  will  be  too  hot  to  hold 

yC 

"Oh,  Sandy  won't  go  to  law  over  the  shootin'. 
It'd  make  him  look  too  ridic'lous." 

The  sheriff  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed 
with  all  the  uproarious  abandon  of  a  man  who 
laughs  seldom  but  well. 

"Best  look  out  for  yourself,"  he  cautioned. 
"That  there  Dorales  will  be  on  your  trail  till  hell 
freezes  over,  ma'am!  I  sure  would  admire  to  see 
you  in  action  on  that  crowd!" 

"You'll  see  me  in  action  when  that  there  car 
gets  movin'  again,"  she  retorted.  "She  bucks  like 
a  range  hoss  and  kicks  to  beat  hell — why,  I 
couldn't  hardly  keep  the  saddle!" 

The  sheriff  arose  and  went  to  the  dust-white 
flivver.  He  adjusted  the  spark,  cranked,  and  for 
a  moment  listened  to  the  engine  before  killing  it. 
Then  he  threw  back  the  hood,  and,  under  the 
sombre  eyes  of  Thady  Shea,  worked  in  silence. 
At  length  he  finished  his  task,  started  the  engine 
again,  and  with  a  nod  of  satisfaction  shut  it  off. 
'Thought  mebbe  so,"  he  stated,  rejoining  the 
lady.  "  Your  spark  plugs  was  fouled.  Well,  ma'am, 
what  can  I  be  doin'  for  you?" 

"Ye  might  send  me  a  wire  in  care  of  Coravel 
Tio  whenever  ye  get  a  line  on  Dorales  or  Mackin- 
tavers.     I'm  fixing  to  meet  them  again." 


20  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

"How  come?"  demanded  the  sheriff  in  surprise. 

Mrs.  Crump  gestured  with  her  pipe  toward  the 
flivver. 

"I  got  a  sack  of  ore  in  there  that  I  found  in  the 
lava  beds  or  thereabouts.  I  suspicions  it's  one  o* 
these  new-fangled  things  nobody  give  a  whoop  for 
in  the  old  days,  but  that  draws  down  the  money 
now.  If  it  is,  then  you  can  lay  that  Sandy  will 
hear  I've  found  it,  and  he'll  be  after  me  to  jump 
the  claim." 

"He  sure  does  keep  a  line  on  prospectors," 
reflected  the  sheriff.  "And  skins  'em,  too,  mostly. 
But  he  does  it  legal." 

"Yep.  If  this  here  stuff  is  any  good,  Sam, 
they's  going  to  be  some  smoke  'fore  he  gets  his 
paws  on  it!  Where  you  goin'  from  here?  Back 
to  Albuquerque?" 

"Nope.  I  got  some  business  up  at  the  cap- 
ital." 

"Will  ye  tote  that  ore  sack  and  a  letter  up  to 
Cpravel  Tio  for  me — and  do  it  strictly  under  your 
hat?" 

"You  bet  I  will,  ma'am!" 

Mrs.  Crump  unstrapped  the  burlap  sack. 
With  the  sheriff's  pencil  and  paper  she  settled 
down  to  write  a  letter.  The  process  was  obviously 
painful  and  laborious,  but  at  length  it  was  finished. 
The  sheriff  shook  hands,  picked  up  the  sack,  and 
turned  to  his  car.  Mrs  Crump  had  already  re- 
stored him  his  revolver. 


THADY  SHEA  ENCOUNTERS  PURPOSE  21 

"Take  good  care  of  yourself,  ma'am — and  your 
hobo!    Adios." 

Mrs.  Crump  watched  the  trail  of  dust  disappear 
in  the  direction  of  Santa  Fe,  then  she  turned  to  the 
flivver  and  looked  up  at  Thady  Shea. 

"They's  a  new  corncob  laying  in  back  some- 
wheres.  You  can  have  it,  Thady.  Get  out  here 
and  settle  down  for  a  spell  o'  talk.  If  ye  act  real 
good  I'll  give  ye  a  drink." 

"I  don't  want  any,"  came  Shea's  muffled  voice 
as  he  leaned  back  in  search  of  the  pipe. 

"That's  a  lie.  You're  fair  shaking  for  liquor 
and  a  drop  will  brace  ye  up." 

Shea  procured  the  pipe,  filled  and  lighted,  and 
promptly  assumed,  as  a  garment,  his  usual  his- 
trionic pose.  The  gulp  of  liquor  which  Mrs. 
Crump  carefully  measured  out  sent  a  thin  thread 
of  colour  into  his  gaunt,  unshaven  cheeks. 

"Madam,  I  owe  you  all,"  he  announced  sonor- 
ously. "I  have  not  missed  the  heart  of  things 
set  forth  in  this  your  discourse  to  the  sheriff's 
ear,  and  I  have  gathered  that  your  need  is 
great  for  the  strong  arms  of  friends,  the  counsel 
wise 

"You  got  it,"  cut  in  Mrs.  Crump,  curtly.  "The 
p'int  is,  Thady,  where  do  you  come  in?  Listen 
here,  now!  I  got  a  good  eye  for  men;  ye  ain't 
much  account  as  ye  stand,  but  ye  got  the  makin's. 
Now  cut  out  the  booze  and  I'll  take  ye  for  partner, 
savvy?    What's    more,    I'll    spend    a    couple    o' 


22  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

weeks  attending  to  it  that  ye  do  cut  out  the 
booze!  I  sure  need  a  partner  who  ain't  liable  to 
sell  me  out  to  them  heathen.  Can  ye  down  the 
booze,  or  not?" 

Something  in  her  tone  cut  through  the  man's 
posturing  like  a  knife.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
was  miserable  in  spirit;  his  soul  quivered  nakedly 
before  him,  and  he  was  ashamed.  For  a  space  he 
did  not  answer,  but  stared  at  the  far  mountains. 
The  strong  tragedy  of  his  face  was  accentuated  and 
deepened  into  utter  bitterness. 

What  Mrs.  Crump  had  only  vaguely  and  darkly 
seen  Thady  Shea  observed  clearly  and  with 
wonder;  yet,  just  as  she  missed  the  more  mystical 
side  of  it,  he  missed  the  more  practical  side.  More 
diverse  creatures  wearing  human  semblance  could 
scarce  have  been  found  than  these  twain,  here  met 
upon  a  desert  upland  of  New  Mexico — the  woman, 
a  self-reliant  mountaineer  and  prospector  who 
knew  only  her  own  little  world,  the  man  a  drunkard, 
a  broken-down  "hamfatter,"  who  knew  all  the 
outside  world  which  had  rejected  him.  They  had 
come  together  from  different  spheres. 

As  he  sat  there  staring,  he  mentally  and  for  the 
last  time  reviewed  the  life  that  lay  behind  him; 
before  him  uprose  all  the  contemptuous  years, 
the  sad  wreckage  of  high  hopes  and  tinsel  glories, 
the  hard  and  wretched  fact  of  liquor.  He  would 
shut  it  out  of  his  mind  forever,  after  to-day,  he 
thought.     He  would  live  in  the  present  only,  from 


THADY  SHEA  ENCOUNTERS  PURPOSE  <23 

day  to  day.  He  would  try  a  new  life — and  let 
the  dead  bury  their  dead! 

He  turned  to  Mrs.  Crump,  his  sad  and  earnest 
eyes  looking  oddly  cynical. 

"I  do  not  think  it  humanly  possible  that  I  can 
resist  liquor,"  he  said,  gravely.  "I  am  frank  with 
you.  It  were  easy  to  swear  that  I  would  pluck 
out  drowned  honour  by  the  roots — but,  madam,  I 
think  that  this  morning  I  am  weary  of  swearing. 
I  have  tried  to  abstain,  and  I  cannot.  Always  it 
is  the  first  week  or  two  of   torture  that  downs 


me- 


"  You're  showin'  sense,  now,"  said  the  lady. 
"Want  to  try  it  or  not?" 

He  rose  in  the  car  and  attempted  a  bow  in  his 
showy  and  pitiful  manner.  In  this  bow,  however, 
was  an  element  of  grace,  the  more  pronounced  by 
its  sharp  contrast  to  his  gaunt,  sombre  aspect- 

"Madam,  I  am  deeply  sensible  of  the  compli- 
ment you  pay  me.  Yet,  in  picking  from  the 
gutter  a  drunken  failure,  are  you  wise?  I  am 
entirely  ignorant  of  prospecting  and " 

"Don't  worry  none.  Ye'll  learn  that  quick 
enough." 

Again  Thaddeus  bowed.  "But,  madam,  I 
understand  that  prospectors  go  off  into  the  desert 
places  and  live.  In  justice  to  yourself,  do  you  not 
think  that  your  enemies  might  seize  viciously  upon 
the  least  excuse  for  misinterpretation  of  char- 
acter  " 


24  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

For  the  first  time  Shea  saw  Mehitabel  Crump 
gripped  in  anger.     He  paused,  aghast. 

Her  gigantic  form  quivered  with  rage  then 
stiffened  into  towering  wrath.  Her  tanned,  age- 
touched  features  suddenly  hardened  into  sentient 
bronze  from  which  her  blue  eyes  blazed  forth 
terribly,  jewelled  indices  of  an  indomitable  and 
quick-flaming  spirit  within. 

"Thady  Shea,  it's  well  for  you  them  words 
come  from  an  honest  heart,"  said  she,  with  a 
slow  and  grim  emphasis.  "They  ain't  no  one 
goin'  to  say  a  word  agin'  me,  except  them  for  what 
1  don't  give  a  tinker's  dam;  and  if  one  o'  them 
dasts  to  say  it  in  my  hearin',  chain  lightnin'  is 
goin'  to  strike  quick  and  sudden!  This  here  ter- 
ritory— state,  I  mean — knows  Mehitabel  Crump 
and  has  knowed  her  for  some  years  back.  Paste 
that  in  your  hat,  Thady  Shea!" 

As  some  dread  lioness  hears  in  dreams  the  horns 
and  shouts  of  hunters,  and  starting  erect  with 
bristling  front  mutters  her  low  and  terrible  growl 
of  challenge,  so  Mehitabel  Crump  defiantly  faced 
Thaddeus. 

He,  poor  soul,  inwardly  cursed  his  too-nimble 
tongue,  and  shrank  visibly  from  the  spectacle 
of  wrath.  Before  the  hurt  and  amazed  eyes  of 
him  Mrs.  Crump  suddenly  abandoned  her  right- 
eous attitude.  Having  palpably  overawed  him, 
she  now  felt  ashamed  of  herself. 

"There,    buck    up,"    she    brusquely    ordered. 


THADY  SHEA  ENCOUNTERS  PURPOSE  25 

"Tell  me,  now!  If  I  answer  for  it  that  ye  stay 
sober  a  couple  o'  weeks  or  so,  will  ye  make  the 
fight?" 

"Yes."  Hope  fought  against  despair  in  Shea's 
voice;  he  knew  his  own  weakness  well. 

"All  right.     Let's  go,  then!" 

"We're  going  to  Santa  Fe?" 

Mrs.  Crump  advanced  to  the  front  of  the 
flivver,  and  seized  the  crank.  Then  she  paused, 
her  blue  eyes  striking  up  over  the  radiator  at  Shea. 

"No,  I  ain't  goin'  to  Santy  Fe;  neither  are  you! 
We're  goin'  to  the  most  man-forsaken  spot  they 
is  in  all  the  world,  I  reckon.  We  got  grub,  and 
everything  else  can  wait  a  couple  o'  weeks  or  so. 
\ccordin'  to  the  Good  Book,  Providence  was 
mighty  rushed  about  creation,  but  I  ain't  in  no 
special  hurry  about  makin'  a  man  of  you " 

Her  words  were  drowned  in  the  engine's  roar. 
Thaddeus  Roscius  Shea  made  himself  as  small 
hs  possible;  Mrs.  Crump  crowded  in  under  the 
wheel,  the  car  swaying  to  her  weight,  and  they 
leaped  forward. 

In  silence  she  drove,  pushing  the  flivver  with 
a  speed  and  abandon  which  left  Shea  clinging 
desperately  to  his  seat.  Twenty  minutes  later 
an  intersecting  road  made  its  appearance;  Mrs. 
Crump  left  the  highway  and  followed  this  road 
due  north  for  a  couple  of  miles.  There,  coming 
to  an  east-and-west  road  which  was  decidedly 
rough,  she  headed  west. 


26  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

"This  here's  the  trail  to  Cochiti  pueblo,"  she 
announced,  enigmatically. 

Four  miles  of  this,  and  she  struck  an  even 
worse  road  that  headed  northwest.  Shea's  eyes 
opened  as  they  progressed.  Never  in  all  his  life 
had  he  encountered  such  grotesque  country  as 
this  which  now  lay  on  every  hand  as  though 
evoked  by  magic — utter  desolation  of  huge  rock 
masses,  blistered  and  calcined  by  ancient  fires, 
eroded  into  strange  spires  and  pinnacles  of  weird 
formation.  To  the  north  towered  Dome  Rock 
with  its  adjacent  crater.  No  sign  of  life  was 
anywhere  in  evidence. 

Shea  was  helplessly  gripped  by  the  personality 
of  the  woman  beside  him.  Mentally  he  was 
overborne  and  awed;  physically  he  was  sick — 
not  ill,  but  downright  sick,  possibly  due  to  the 
sparse  gulps  of  liquor  which  he  had  downed, 
possibly  to  the  glaring  sun.  He  cared  not  whether 
he  lived  or  died.  He  felt  that  this  day  had  brought 
him  to  the  end  of  his  rope,  and  that  nothing  more 
could  matter. 

"Gettin'  into  the  lava  beds,"  observed  Mrs. 
Crump,  cheerfully.  Shea  understood  her  words 
only  dimly.  "This  here  Henry  sure  does  go 
pokin'  where  you'd  think  nothin'  short  of  a  mule 
could  live!  The  trail  peters  out  a  bit  farther, 
then  we  got  to  hoof  it  over  to  the  Rio  Grande  and 
make  camp." 

Poor  Shea  shivered.     The  frightful  desolation 


THADY  SHEA  ENCOUNTERS  PURPOSE  27 

of  the  scene  horrified  him.  He  had  never  been 
an  outdoor  man.  His  had  ever  been  the  weak- 
ness, the  dependency  of  the  sheltered  and  civilized 
being.  Contact  with  this  strangely  primitive 
woman  frightened  him.  He  felt  like  babbling  in 
his  terror,  begging  to  be  taken  back  and  allowed 
to  resume  his  place  among  the  swine.  Here  was 
something  new,  awful,  incredible!  But  he  held 
his  peace. 

Had  he  been  able  to  look  a  few  miles  ahead; 
had  he  foreseen  what  lay  before  him  in  that  camp 
in  White  Rock  Canon,  a  place  which  in  grandeur 
and  inaccessibility  rivalled  the  great  canon  of  the 
Colorado:  had  he  known  that  he  was  about  to 
tread  a  trail  which  few  white  men  had  ever 
followed — in  short,  had  he  understood  what 
Mehitabel  Crump's  plan  held  in  store  for  him, 
he  would  at  that  moment  have  yielded  up  the 
ghost,  cheerfully! 

At  last,  reaching  a  sheer  incline  where  boulders 
larger  than  the  car  itself  filled  all  the  trail  and 
rendered  further  progress  impossible,  Mrs.  Crump 
killed  her  engine  and  set  her  brakes  hard. 

"I  guess  Henry  can  lay  here  all  his  life  and 
never  be  stole,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  relaxation. 
"Well,  Thady,  here  *we  are!  D'you  know  what? 
It  ain't  lack  of  ambition  that  makes  folks  mis'able 
and  unsatisfied;  it's  lack  o'  purpose.  Now,  I 
aim  to  teach  ye  some  purpose,  Thady.  Look 
at  me!     I  been  prospectin'  all  my  life,  and  still 


28  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

goin'  strong,  just  because  I  got  a  definite  object 
ahead — to  strike  it  rich  somewheres! 

"Well,  climb  down.  We  got  to  rig  up  some 
grub  into  packs,  hoof  it  to  the  nearest  canoncito, 
and  reach  the  Rio  Grande.  It's  less'n  two  mile 
in  a  straight  line  to  water,  but  twenty  'fore  we 
gets  there,  if  we  gets  there  a-tall.  Come  on, 
limber   up!" 

Thaddeus  Roscius  Shea  groaned  inaudibly — 
but  limbered  up. 


CHAPTER  III 

CORATEL  TIO   ENJOYS  A   BUSY  MORNING 

CORAVEL  TIO  sold  curios  in  the  old  town 
of  Santa  Fe.  He  also  sold  antiques,  real 
and  fraudulent;  he  had  a  wholesale  busi- 
ness in  Indian  wares  that  extended  over  the 
whole  land. 

Coravel  Tio  was  one  of  the  few  Americans 
who  could  trace  their  ancestry  in  an  unbroken 
line  for  three  hundred  years.  It  was  almost 
exactly  three  hundred  years  since  the  ancestor 
of  Coravel  Tio  had  come  to  Santa  Fe  as  a  con- 
quistador. Doravel  Tio  was  wont  to  boast  of 
this,  an  easily  proven  fact;  and,  boasting,  he  had 
sold  the  conquistador's  battered  old  armour  at 
least  fifty  times. 

When  the  boasts  of  Coravel  Tio  were  ques- 
tioned, he  would  admit  with  a  chuckle  that  he 
was  a  philosopher;  and  do  not  all  philosophers  live 
by  lying,  senor?  There  was  great  truth  in  him 
when  he  was  not  selling  his  ancestor's  armour  to 
tourists — and  even  then,  if  he  happened  to  like 
the  looks  of  the  tourist,  he  would  gently  insinuate 
that  as  a  business  man  he  sold  fraudulent  wares 
and  lied  nobly  about  them,  but  that  in  private 

29 


30  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

he  was  a  philosopher.    And  the  tourists,  liking 
this  quaintly  naive  speech,  bought  the  more. 

It  was  a  big,  dark,  quiet  shop,  full  of  Indian 
goods  and  weapons,  antique  furniture  that  would 
have  made  Chippendale's  eyes  water,  ivories,  old 
paintings,  manuscripts  from  ancient  missions.  A 
good  half  of  Coravel  Tio's  shop  was  not  for  sale 
at  any   price.     Neither,  said  men,  was  Coravel 

Tio. 

He  was  a  soft-spoken  little  man,  quiet,  of 
strange  smiles  and  strange  silences.  His  was  the 
art  of  making  silence  into  a  reproof,  an  assent, 
a  curse.  The  world  of  Santa  Fe  moved  about 
Uncle  Coravel  and  heeded  him  not,  shouldered 
him  aside;  and  Coravel  Tio,  knowing  his  fathers 
to  have  been  conquistadores,  smiled  gently  at  the 
world.  His  name  was  usually  dismissed  with  a 
shrug — in  effect,  a  huge  tribute  to  him.  Talley- 
rand woujd  have  given  his  soul  to  have  been 
accorded  such  treatment  from  the  diplomats  of 
Europe;  it  would  have  rendered  him  invincible. 

One  of  those  rare  men  was  Coravel  Tio  whose 
faculties,  masked  by  childish  gentleness,  grow 
more  terribly  keen  with  every  passing  year.  His 
brain  was  like  a  seething  volcano — a  volcano 
which  seems  to  be  extinct  and  cold  and  impotent, 
yet  which  holds  unguessed  fires  somewhere  deep 
within  itself. 

Upon  a  day,  some  time  following  the  meeting  of 
Mehitabel  Crump  with  Thady  Shea,  this  Coravel 


A  BUSY  MORNING  31 

Tio  was  standing  in  talk  with  one  Cota,  a  native 
member  of  the  legislature  then  in  session. 

"But,  senor!"  was  volubly  protesting  the  leg- 
islator, with  excitement.  "They  say  the  majority 
is  assured,  that  the  bill  already  drawn,  that  the 
capital  is  to  be  moved  to  Albuquerque  at  this  very 
session!" 

"I  know,"  said  Coravel,  passively,  his  dark 
eyes  gently  mournful. 

"You  know?  But  what — what  is  to  be  done? 
Shall  those  down-state  people  take  away  our 
capital?  We  must  prevent  it!  We  must  do 
something!  It's  this  man  Mackintavers  who  is 
at  the  bottom  of  it,  I  suppose " 

Coravel  Tio  fingered  a  blanket  which  topped 
a  pile  beside  him — a  gaudy  red  blanket.  He  re- 
garded it  with  curious  eyes. 

"I  fear  this  is  not  genuine — it  does  not  have 
the  old  Spanish  uniform  red,"  he  murmured,  as 
though  inwardly  he  were  thinking  only  of  his 
wares.  Then  suddenly  his  eyes  lifted  to  the 
other  man,  and  he  smiled.  In  his  smile  was  a 
piercing  hint  of  mockery  like  a  half-sheathed 
sword;  before  that  smile  Cota  stammered  and 
fell  silent. 

"Oh,  senor,  this  matter  of  the  capital!"  an- 
swered Coravel  Tio,  softly.  "Why,  for  many, 
many  years  men  have  said  that  the  capital  is  to 
be  moved  to  Albuquerque;  yet  it  has  not  been 
moved!    Nor    will    it    be    moved.     And,     Senor 


32  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

Cota,  let  me  whisper  something  to  you!  I  hear 
that  you  have  bought  a  new  automobile.  That 
is  very  nice,  very  nice!  But,  sefior,  if  by  any 
chance  you  are  misled  into  voting  for  that  bill, 
it  would  be  a  very  sad  event  in  your  life;  a  most 
unhappy  event,  I  assure  you!  Senor,  customers 
await   me.     Adios" 

As  the  legislator  left  the  shop,  he  furtively 
crossed  himself,  wonder  and  fear  struggling  in 
his  pallid  features. 

The  merchant  now  turned  to  his  waiting  cus- 
tomers. Of  these,  one  was  a  Pueblo,  a  Cochiti 
man  as  the  fashion  of  his  high  white  moccasins 
and  barbaric  apparel  testified  to  a  knowing  eye. 
The  others  were  two  white  men  who  together  ap- 
proached the  curio  dealer.  Coravel  Tio  stepped 
to  a  show  case  filled  with  onyx  and  other  old 
carvings,  and  across  this  faced  the  two  men  with 
an  uplift  of  his  brows,  a  silent  questioning. 

"You're  Mr.  Coravel — Coravel  Tio?"  queried 
one  of  the  two.  The  dealer  merely  smiled  and 
nodded,  in  his  birdlike  fashion.  "Can  we  see 
you  in  private?" 

"I  have  no  privacy,"  said  Coravel  Tio.  "This 
is  my  shop.     You  may  speak  freely." 

"Huh!"  grunted  the  other,  surveying  him  in 
obvious  hesitation.  "Well,  I  dunno.  Me  and 
my  partner  here  have  been  workin'  down  to 
Magdalena,  and  we  had  a  scrap  with  some  fellers 
and  laid  'em  out.    Right  after  that,  a  native  by 


A  BUSY  MORNING  33 

the  name  of  Baca  tipped  us  off  that  they  was 
Mackintavers'  men,  and  we'd  better  light  out 
in  a  hurry.  He  give  us  a  loan  and  said  to  tell 
you  about  it,  so  we  lit  out  here." 

Coravel  Tio  seemed  greatly  puzzled  by  this  tale. 

"My  dear  sir,"  he  returned,  slowly,  "I  am  a 
curio  dealer.  I  do  not  know  why  you  were  sent 
to  me.     Do  you?" 

"Hell,  no!"  The  miner  stared  at  him  dis- 
gustedly.    "Must  ha'  been  some  mistake." 

"Undoubtedly.  I  am  most  sorry.  However, 
if  you  are  looking  for  work,  I  might  be  able  to 
help  you — it  seems  to  me  that  someone  wrote 
me  for  a  couple  of  men.  Excuse  me  one  moment 
while  I  look  up  the  letter.  What  are  your  names, 
my  friends?" 

"Me?  I'm  Joe  Gilbert.  My  partner  here  is 
Alf  Lewis." 

Coravel  Tio  left  them,  and  crossed  to  a  glassed-in 
box  of  an  office.  He  opened  a  locked  safe,  swiftly 
inspected  a  telegraph  form,  and  nodded  to  himself 
in  a  satisfied  manner.  He  returned  to  the  two 
men,  tapped  for  a  moment  upon  the  glass  counter, 
meditatively,  then  addressed  them. 

"Senors,  I  regret  the  mistake  exceedingly.  Still, 
if  you  want  work,  I  suggest  that  you  drive  over 
to  Domingo  this  afternoon  with  my  cousin,  who 
lives  there.  You  may  stay  a  day  or  two  with 
him,  then  this  friend  of  mine  will  pick  you  up 
and  take  vou  to  work." 


34  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

The  second  man,  Lewis,  spoke  up  hesitantly. 

"Minin'  is  our  work,  mister.  We  ain't  no 
ranchers." 

"Certainly."  Coravel  Tio  smiled,  gazing  at 
him.  "You  will  not  work  for  a  native,  my  friends. 
Ah,  no!     Be  here  at  two  this  afternoon,  please." 

The  two  men  left  the  shop.  Outside,  in  the 
street,  they  paused  and  looked  at  each  other. 
The  second  man,  Lewis,  swore  under  his  breath. 

"Joe,  how  in  hell  did  he  know  we  was  worried 
over  workin'  for  a  greaser  boss?" 

Gilbert  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
strode  away. 

Within  the  shop,  Coravel  Tio  turned  to  the 
waiting  Indian  and  spoke — this  time  neither  in 
Spanish  nor  English,  but  in  the  Indian  tongue 
itself.  As  he  spoke,  however,  he  saw  the  stolid 
redskin  make  a  slight  gesture.  Catlike,  Coravel 
Tio  turned  about  and  went  to  meet  a  man  who 
had  just  entered  the  shop;  catlike,  too,  he  purred 
suave  greeting. 

A  large  man,  this  new  arrival — square  of  head 
and  jaw  and  shoulder,  with  small  gray  eyes  closely 
set,  a  moustache  bristling  over  a  square  mouth, 
ruthless  hardness  stamped  in  every  line  of  figure, 
face,  and  manner.  He  was  dressed  carelessly  but 
well. 

"Morning,"  he  said,  curtly.  His  eyes  bit 
sharply  about  the  place,  then  rested  with  intent 
scrutiny  upon  the  proprietor.     "Morning,  Coravel 


A  BUSY  MORNING  35 

Tio.  I  been  looking  for  someone  who  can  talk 
Injun.  I've  got  a  propositon  that  won't  handle 
well  in  Spanish;  it's  got  to  be  put  to  'em  in  their 
own  tongue.  I  hear  that  you  can  find  me  some- 
one." 

Regretfully,  Coravel  Tio  shook  his  head. 

"No — o,"  he  said,  in  reflective  accents.  "I  am 
sorry,  Mr.  Mackintavers.  My  clerk,  Juan 
Estrada,  spoke  their  language,  but  he  joined  the 
army  and  is  still  in  service.  Myself,  I  know  of 
it  only  a  word  or  two.  But  wait!  Here  is  a 
Cochiti  man  who  sells  me  turquoise;  he  might 
serve  you  as  interpreter,  if  he  is  willing." 

He  called  the  loitering  Indian,  and  in  the  bastard 
Spanish  patois  of  the  country  put  the  query. 
Mackintavers,  who  also  spoke  the  tongue  well, 
intervened  and  tried  to  employ  the  Indian  as 
interpreter.  To  both  interrogators  the  Pueblo 
shook  his  head  in  stolid  negation.  He  would  not 
serve  in  the  desired  capacity,  and  knew  of  no 
one  else  who  would. 

"It  is  a  great  pity  he  is  so  stubborn!"  Coravel 
Tio  gestured  in  despair  as  he  turned  to  his  visitor. 
<6I  owe  you  thanks,  Mr.  Mackintavers,  for  getting 
my  wholesale  department  that  order  from  the 
St.  Louis  dealer.  I  am  in  your  debt,  and  I  shall 
be  grateful  if  I  can  repay  the  obligation.  In  this 
case,  alas,  I  am  powerless!" 

"Well,  let  it  go."  Mackintavers  waved  a  large, 
square  hand.     He  produced  cigars,  set  one  between 


36  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

his  square  white  teeth,  and  handed  the  other  to 
Coravel  Tio.  "You  can  repay  me  here  and  now. 
A  man  at  Albuquerque  sent  a  telegram  to  that 
Crump  woman  in  your  care.     Where  is  she?" 

"What  is  all  this?"  Coravel  Tio  was  obviously 
astonished.  "Senor,  I  am  a  curio  dealer,  no  more! 
You  surely  do  not  refer  to  the  kind-hearted  Mrs. 
Crump?" 

Mackintavers  eyed  him,  chewing  on  his  cigar. 
Then  he  nodded  grimly. 

"I  do!  Is  she  a  particular  friend  of  yours?" 
"Certainly!  Have  I  not  known  her  these 
twenty  years?  I  buy  much  from  her — bits  of 
turquoise,  queer  Indian  things,  odd  relics.  Her 
mail  often  comes  here,  remaining  until  she  calls 
for  it.  I  am  a  curio  dealer,  senor,  and  in  other 
matters  I  take  no  interest." 

"  Hm ! "  grunted  Mackintavers.  "  Has  she  beeu 
here  lately?" 

"No,  senor,  not  for  three  months — no,  mor* 
than  that!     Mail  comes,  also  telegrams." 

"D'you  know  where  she  is?"  demanded  the 
other,  savagely. 

Dreamily  reflective,  Coravel  Tio  fastened  his 
eyes  upon  the  right  ear  of  Mackintavers.  That 
ear  bore  a  half-healed  scar,  like  a  bullet-nick. 
Beneath  that  silent  scrutiny  the  other  man 
reddened  uneasily. 

"  Let  me  see !  My  wife's  second  cousin,  Estevan 
Baca,  wrote  me  last  week  that  he  had  met  her  in 


A  BUSY  MORNING  37 

Las  Vegas.  Everyone  knows  her,  sefior.  If  I 
can  send  any  message  for  you " 

"No.  Much  obliged,  all  the  same,"  grunted 
the  other.  "I'll  probably  be  at  the  Aztec  House 
for  a  few  days.  Let  me  know  in  case  she  comes 
to  town,  will  you?     I  want  to  see  her." 

With  exactly  the  proper  degree  of  bland  eager- 
ness, Coravel  Tio  assented  to  this,  and  Mackin- 
t  a  vers  departed  heavily.  The  merchant  accom- 
panied him  to  the  door  and  watched  him  stride  up 
the  narrow  street,  cursing  the  burros  laden  with 
mountain  wood  that  blocked  his  way.  Then, 
smiling  a  trifle  oddly,  the  descendant  of  conquista- 
dores  returned  to  the  waiting  man  from  Cochiti 
pueblo. 

"Do  you  know  why  that  man  wanted  an  in- 
terpreter?" he  asked  the  Indian,  in  the  latter's 
native  tongue.  The  redskin  grinned  wisely  and 
shook  the  black  hair  from  his  eyes. 

"Yes.  But  it  is  not  a  matter  to  discuss  with 
Christians,  my  father." 

Coravel  Tio  nodded  carelessly.  The  question 
was  closed.  The  Pueblo  folk  are,  of  course,  very 
devoted  converts  to  the  Christian  faith;  yet  those 
who  know  them  intimately  can  testify  that  they 
sometimes  have  affairs,  perhaps  touching  upon 
the  queer  stone  idols  of  their  fathers,  which  do 
not  bear  discussion  with  other  Christians.  They 
do  not  pray  to  the  old  gods — perhaps — but  they 
hold  them  in  tremendous  respect. 


38  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

"You  came  to  tell  me  something,"  prompted 
the  curio  dealer,  gently. 

The  Indian  assented  with  a  nod.  He  leaned 
against  one  of  the  wooden  pillars  that  supported 
the  roof,  and  began  to  roll  a  cigarette  while  he 
talked. 

"Yesterday,  my  father,  I  was  near  the  painted 
caves  of  the  Colorado,  and  I  stood  above  White 
Rock  Canon  looking  down  at  the  river.  There  on 
the  other  side  of  the  water  I  saw  the  strangest 
thing  in  the  world.  I  went  home  and  told  the 
governor  of  the  pueblo  what  I  had  seen,  and  it 
was  his  command  that  I  come  here  and  tell  you 
also,  for  this  is  some  queer  affair  of  the  white 
people." 

Coravel  Tio  said  nothing  at  all.  The  Pueblo 
lighted  his  cigarette  and  continued : 

"Upon  the  east  side  of  the  river  and  canon,  not 
so  well  hidden  that  I  could  not  see  it,  was  a  camp, 
and  in  that  camp  were  a  white  man  and  a  white 
woman.  I  have  never  before  seen  white  folk 
able  to  reach  that  place,  unless  it  were  the  Trail 
Runner  who  takes  pictures  of  us  and  sells  them 
to  tourists.  These  were  strangers  to  me.  One 
was  a  very  large  woman.  The  man  was  tall,  but 
he  acted  very  strangely.  He  acted  as  though 
God  had  touched  his  brain.     So  did  they  both." 

'Tn  what  way?"  asked  Coravel  Tio,  sharply. 

"In  every  way,  my  father.  The  man  wore  no 
shoes,  and  the  hot  rocks  hurt  his  feet  so  that  he 


A  BUSY  MORNING  39 

limped.  I  saw  him  spring  on  the  woman,  and 
they  fought.  She  beat  him  off  and  pointed  a  gun 
at  him.  Then  he  seemed  to  be  weeping  like  a 
woman,  and  he  grovelled  before  her.  She  threw 
something  far  off  on  the  stones,  and  I  think  it  was 
glass  that  broke — a  bottle,  perhaps." 

"Oh!"  said  Coravel  Tio.  "Oh!  Perhaps  it 
was. 

"There  were  other  strange  actions,"  pursued  the 
stolid  red  man.  "I  could  not  understand  them " 

"No  matter."  Coravel  Tio  made  a  gesture 
as  though  dismissing  the  subject.  "Could  you 
get  to  that  camp  from  your  pueblo?" 

"Of  course,  by  crossing  the  river,  by  swimming 
the  water  there.  But  that  may  be  a  hard  thing 
to  do,  my  father." 

"Undoubtedly,  but  you  will  do  it,  and  I  will 
pay  you  well.  There  is  a  package  to  give  that 
woman.     Wait." 

Coravel  Tio  went  to  his  little  box  of  an  office, 
seated  himself  at  the  desk,  and  began  to  write 
in  a  fair,  round  hand.  The  epistle  required 
neither  superscription  nor  signature: 

The  burlap  sack  proved  to  contain  some  interesting 
contents.  The  two  small  sacks  in  the  centre  were  even 
more  interesting.  The  samples  have  been  assayed  with 
the  following  results: 

Numbers  one  to  five,  quartzitic  with  bare  traces  of 
brittle  silver  ore;  no  good.  Numbers  six  to  fifteen, 
barytes,  perhaps  five  dollars  a  ton;  no  good.     Number 


40  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

sixteen  is  strontianite.  This  is  converted  into  certain 
nitrates  used  in  manufacture  of  fireworks  and  in  beet 
sugar  refining.  Tremendously  valuable  and  rare. 
This,  senora,  is  enough. 

I  think  that  M.  has  scented  those  assays.  He  is 
asking  for  you,  but  I  have  made  him  look  toward  Las 
Vegas.  To-morrow  you  will  find  two  men  at  Domingo 
who  wish  work — they  will  be  there  until  you  arrive: 
Joe  Gilbert  and  Alf  Lewis.  Meet  me  there  also,  please. 
I  will  take  one-third  interest  in  Number  Sixteen  as 
you  suggest,  and  will  furnish  whatever  money  you 
desire  on  account.     I  enclose  an  advance  sum. 

I  shall  have  articles  of  partnership  ready.  Suppose 
you  meet  me  day  after  to-morrow,  at  Domingo.  You 
must  give  me  location,  etc.,  in  order  to  arrange  details 
of  filing,  land  and  mineral  right  lease,  etc.  Be  careful 
about  the  new  explosives  law,  unless  you  already  have  a 
permit. 

"Being  a  woman,"  reflected  Coravel  Tio,  "she 
should  know  that  the  most  important  thing  in 
this  letter  is  the  very  end  of  it." 

He  sealed  the  letter,  placed  it  upon  a  thick 
sheaf  of  bank  notes,  wrapped  the  parcel  in  oiled 
silk  and  again  in  a  small  waterproof  Navajo  saddle 
blanket.  This  package  he  gave  to  the  waiting 
redskin. 

"It  must  go  into  the  hands  of  that  large  woman, 
and  no  other,"  he  said,  gravely.  "If  you  fail, 
there  is  trouble  for  all  of  us — and  perhaps  for  the 
gods  of  the  San  Marcos  also!" 


A  BUSY  MORNING  41 

At  these  last  words  a  flash  of  keen  surprise 
sprang  athwart  the  Indian's  face;  then  he  took 
the  package  and  turned  to  the  doorway  without 
response.  Coravel  Tio  looked  after  him,  and 
smiled  gently. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MRS.    CRUMP  HEADS   SOUTHWEST 

THERE  was  in  Domingo  a  man  named  Baca. 
Domingo  is  a  tiny  village  of  adobes  nestling 
along  the  curve  of  Santa  Fe  creek  under 
the  gray  sharpness  of  Bajada  hill;  there  is  also 
an  Indian  pueblo  of  the  same  name. 

In  every  ancient  native  settlement  there  is  at 
least  one  man  named  Baca,  which  signifies 
"cow"  and  may  be  spelled,  in  the  old  fashion, 
either  Baca  or  Vaca.  If  these  folk  came  all  of  one 
stock,  they  have  increased  and  multiplied  exceed- 
ingly. 

Under  the  big  cottonwood  tree  that  grew  in 
front  of  the  Baca  home  sat  smoking  Joe  Gilbert 
and  his  partner  Lewis.  Up  to  them,  and  halting 
abruptly  before  the  house,  crept  a  dust-white 
flivver  in  which  sat  two  people:  one  a  woman, 
great  of  girth  and  frame,  the  other  a  man,  gaunt 
and  haggard,  whose  black  eyes  blazed  like  twin 
stars  of  desolation. 

The  woman  alighted  and  faced  the  two  smokers. 
They  rose  and  doffed  their  hats. 

"Gents,  know  where  I  can  find  Alf  Lewis  and 
Joe  Gilbert?"  she  inquired,  bluntly. 

42 


MRS.  CRUMP  HEADS  SOUTHWEST   43 

"That's  us,  ma'am." 

"Thought  so.  My  name's  Mehitabel  Crump, 
with  Mrs.  for  a  handle.  I'm  goin'  to  open  up 
an  ore  outcrop.  This  here  is  Thady  Shea,  my 
partner.     Want  work,  or  not?" 

"I've  heard  of  you,  ma'am,"  said  Gilbert. 

"So've  I!"  exclaimed  Lewis.  "You  bet  we 
want  work!  Only,  ma'am,  we'd  ought  to  tell  ye 
square  that  they's  apt  to  be  warrants  out  for 
us." 

"Warrants  never  made  me  lose  sleep,"  said 
Mrs.  Crump,  eying  them  with  a  nod  of  satis- 
faction. "Howsomever,  I'll  return  the  favour  by 
saying  that  if  ye  take  up  with  me  it  ain't  goin' 
to  be  no  pleasure  trip,  gents.  'Cause  why,  I've 
got  something  good,  something  that'll  bring 
Mackintavers  on  the  trail  soon's  he  smells  it — 
him  or  his  friends.  I  don't  aim  to  be  bluffed 
out,  I  don't  aim  to  be  bought  out,  and  I  don't 
aim  to  be  la  wed  out;  I  got  something  big,  and  I 
aim  to  hang  on  to  it  spite  of  hell  and  high  water 
until  I  sell  out  big.     Them's  my  openers." 

"They're  plenty,  ma'am,"  said  Gilbert.  "We 
sure  would  admire  to  work  for  you!" 

A  brief  discussion  followed  as  to  wages.  Thad- 
deus  Roscius  Shea  sat  jack-knifed  in  the  car's  front 
seat,  saying  not  a  word.  His  face  was  sun- 
blistered  and  graven  with  gnawing  desire,  his 
black  eyes  were  feverish,  he  looked  anything  but 
a  mining  man.     Yet  the  two  miners,  who  must 


44  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

have  felt  more  than  a  slight  curiosity  touching 
him,  evinced  none.  At  length  Mrs.  Crump 
turned   to   the   car. 

"Well,  pile  in  here!  Make  room  in  the  back, 
but  handle  them  boxes  gentle.  Three  or  four 
holds  blasting  powder  and  dynamite.  I  had 
quite  a  stock  left  over,  and  brung  it  along." 

"Do  we  travel  far?"  asked  Lewis,  nervously. 

"You  bet  we  do!  But  don't  worry  none.  I 
ain't  much  farther  from  them  boxes  than  you 
boys  are,  and  I'm  pickin'  the  soft  spots  in  the 
road.  Besides,  I've  driv'  severeal  hundred  mile 
a'ready  with  this  here  outfit,  and  she  ain't  gone 
up  on  me  yet.  Barring  bad  luck,  we'd  ought  to 
get  where  we're  goin'  by  the  night  of  day  after 
to-morrow." 

"I've  heard  tell  that  you  had  cold  iron  for 
nerves,"  commented  Gilbert.  "But  you  ain't 
backing  me  down,  none  whatever,  ma'am!" 

He  sprang  in,  began  to  shift  the  load,  and 
Lewis  promptly  joined  him.  Mrs.  Crump  turned 
and  strode  away  through  the  dust.  Thady  Shea 
watched  her  out  of  sight,  then  twisted  about, 
and  for  the  first  time  broke  the  silence  that  had 
enveloped   him. 

"Gentlemen!  May  I  inquire  whether  either 
of  you  delvers  in  the  deeps  of  earth  are  possessed 
of  spirits?" 

At  the  sonorously  booming  voice  Gilbert's  jaw 
dropped  in  amazement. 


MRS.  CRUMP  HEADS  SOUTHWEST   45 

"Good  gosh!  Is  that  Scripture  talk?  What 
d'ye  mean — spirits?" 

Shea  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "The  fiery 
fluids  that  do  mingle  soul  with  vaster  inspiration ! 
I  pray  you,  give  me  to  drink  as  you  do  value 
drink!" 

"Oh,  he  means  a  drink!"  ejaculated  Lewis, 
staring.     "We  ain't  got  a  drop,  Shea." 

The  lanky  figure  jack-knifed  together  again  in 
disconsolate  despair.  The  two  men  in  the  rear 
of  the  car  glanced  at  each  other.  Gilbert  tapped 
his  head;  Lewis  grimaced. 

Meantime,  Mrs.  Crump  had  passed  along  the 
winding  row  of  adobes  and  finally  turned  into  a 
corral  of  high  boards.  There,  concealed  from 
exterior  view,  she  found  an  automobile  at  rest;  she 
went  on  to  the  adjoining  rear  door  of  the  adobe 
house.  The  door  was  opened  to  her  by  Coravel 
Tio,  who  greeted  her  with  a  quick  smile  and  a  bow. 

"My  land,  it's  hot!"  said  Mrs.  Crump. 
"Howdy!" 

"This  place  is  hot  indeed,"  responded  the 
merchant.  "Let  us  take  the  front  room  and  we 
may  talk  in  private.  I  have  the  papers  all  made 
out." 

They  understood  each  other  very  well,  these 
two.  Presently,  however,  Coravel  Tio  discovered 
that  a  third  interest  in  Number  Sixteen  was  to 
be  assigned  to  Thaddeus  Shea,  in  whose  name, 
also,  the  entire  mining  property  was  to  stand. 


46  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

He  leaned  back  and  surveyed  Mrs.  Crump  with 
interest. 

"I  do  not  know  this  man  Shea,  sefiora.  Why 
do  you  make  him  wealthy?" 

There  was  no  hint  of  offence  in  his  tone.  He 
spoke  as  one  having  the  right  to  ask,  and  Mrs. 
Crump  promptly   acquiesced. 

"He's  an  old  stage  actor,  Coravel.  I  picks 
him  up  on  the  road  and  takes  him  along.  I'm 
breakin'  him  of  drink,  and  I  got  a  hunch  that  he's 
goin'  to  turn  out  a  real  man.  As  for  makin'  him 
wealthy,  none  of  us  ain't  going  to  thrive  on 
Number  Sixteen  for  quite  a  spell  yet!  I'm  gam- 
bling that  Thady  Shea  will  earn  all  he  gets.  He's 
absolutely  honest,  and  good-hearted.  He  won't 
know  the  mine's  in  his  name,  and  won't  care; 
bein'  that  way,  it'll  throw  Mackintavers  off  the 
track.  Besides,  I  feel]  downright  sorry  for  Thady; 
he's  had  a  heap  o'  misery  in  his  life,  looks  to  me." 

The  other  smiled  gently  and  waved  his  hand. 

"Sefiora,  you  are  the  one  woman  whose  great 
heart  has  no  equal !  It  is  in  my  mind  that  this  man 
will  be  the  cause  of  misfortune;  but  what  matter? 
If  not  from  one  cause,  then  from  another.  Mis- 
fortunes are  sent  by  the  gods  to  make  us  great! 

"I  shall  attend  to  everything  in  his  name;  a 
good  idea,  since  he  will  be  unknown  to  Mackin- 
tavers or  Dorales.  You  will  uncover  the  vein, 
and  send  me  more  samples  immediately.  These 
other  two  men  must  become  small  shareholders,  so 


MRS.  CRUMP  HEADS  SOUTHWEST   47 

that  adjacent  claims  and  mining  rights  may  be 
secured  for  the  company.  Once  we  are  secure, 
we  may  talk  of  eastern  capital." 

"Once  we're  secure,"  said  Mrs.  Crump  grimly, 
"look  out  for  Mackintavers,  then  and  before; 
likewise,  after!" 

"Exactly."  Coravel  Tio  bowed  and  finished 
his  writing. 

A  little  later  Mrs.  Crump  shook  hands  with 
bim  and  departed.  Coravel  Tio  watched  her 
off,  and  heard  the  roar  of  her  car's  engine.  The 
roar  became  a  thrum  that  lessened  and  died  into 
the  distance  like  a  droning  fly.  Only  then,  it 
seemed,  a  sudden  thought  shook  the  man. 

"Dios — I  forgot!"  he  ejaculated.  "I  forgot  to 
ask  her  about  the  permit  for  the  explosives !  Well, 
I  warned  her  in  the  note.  What  matter?  These 
incidents  of  destiny  are  intended  to  work  out 
their  own  effects,  and  good  somehow  comes  from 
everything.     I  am  a  philosopher ! " 

Blissfully  unconscious  whether  philosophy  might 
be  of  aid  in  running  a  flivver,  Mrs.  Crump  headed 
southward  over  the  river  road  to  Albuquerque. 

A  rough  road  is  that,  and  well  travelled.  Mrs. 
Crump  was  in  some  haste  to  get  over  this  section 
unobserved,  and  it  was  entirely  evident  that  her 
haste  was  greater  than  her  caution  regarding  the 
jiggling  boxes  in  the  rear  of  the  car. 

More  than  once  the  two  men  in  the  tonneau 
stared  quickly  at  each  other's  white  faces;  more 


48  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

than  once  the  boxes  and  bundles  crashed  and 
banged  fearsomely,  in  view  of  their  partial  con- 
tents; but  Mrs.  Crump  only  threw  in  more  gas 
and  plunged  ahead.  As  for  Thaddeus  Roscius 
Shea,  he  stared  out  upon  the  passing  scenery  with 
glazed  and  lack-lustre  eyes,  and  held  his  peace. 

When  at  last  they  arrived  in  the  outskirts  of 
Albuquerque,  Mrs.  Crump  paused  at  a  wayside 
station  to  fill  up  with  oil  and  gasoline,  also  to 
refill  several  emptied  water  bags  which  formed 
part  of  the  equipment. 

"We  ain't  goin'  into  town,"  she  vouchsafed, 
curtly,  to  her  charges.  "And  when  we  gets  reach- 
ing out  over  the  mesa,  you  two  boys  act  tender 
with  them  boxes!  They's  two-three  places  we 
got  to  ford  cattle  runs,  and  we  got  to  do  it  sudden 
to  keep  out  of  the  quicksands.  But  don't  worry 
no  more,  there  ain't  no  special  danger." 

The  advice  was  entirely  superfluous.  Gilbert 
and  Lewis  could  by  no  means  have  worried  more. 
They  had  reached  the  limit. 

Barely  skimming  the  outlying  streets  of  Albu- 
querque, Mrs.  Crump  avoided  the  better-known 
highway  beside  the  railroad  and  took  the  shorter 
but  deserted  road  that  leads  south  over  the  mesa 
to  Becker.  Most  of  this  was  covered  before 
darkness  descended  upon  them. 

Then  a  brief  and  barren  camp  was  made;  it 
was  also  a  fireless  camp,  and  the  "grub"  was  cold. 
Stiff  and  weary  though  the  three  passengers  were, 


MRS.  CRUMP  HEADS  SOUTHWEST   49 

it  was  clearly  impossible  that  they  should  prove 
less  tough  than  a  mere  woman.  So,  when  after 
an  hour's  halt  Mrs.  Crump  grimly  cranked  up, 
they  piled  into  the  car  without  protest. 

On  they  went  through  the  darkness.  It  was 
well  after  midnight  when  the  iron  nature  of 
Mehitabel  Crump  acknowledged  signs  of  approach- 
ing dissolution  in  the  hand  that  rocked  the  steering 
wheel.  Admitting  her  weakness  with  a  sigh, 
she  turned  out  of  the  interminable  road  and 
halted.  Blanket  rolls  were  unlashed,  and  sleep 
descended  swiftly  upon  three  members  of  that 
quartet. 

It  must  be  told  that  this  camp  was  a  milepost 
in  the  life  of  Thaddeus  Roscius  Shea.  He  could 
not  sleep.  A  hundred  yards  away  from  the  camp 
he  strode  up  and  down  under  the  cold  stars,  his 
gaunt  body  shivering  with  the  chill  of  the  night, 
his  haggard  features  contorted  with  the  desperate 
anguish  of  shattered  nerves.  All  the  old  im- 
pertinences of  his  soul  were  risen  strong  within 
him;  he  wanted  to  run  away  and  end  this  intoler- 
able situation.  He  wanted  to  run  away,  here 
and  now! 

Yet,  when  at  length  he  clumsily  wrapped  him- 
self in  his  blanket  and  fell  asleep,  tears  beaded 
his  hollow  cheeks  and  reflected  the  pale  starlight 
above;  and  like  the  stars,  those  tears  were  cleans- 
ing, and  serenely  sad.  The  first  tears  he  had 
shed  in  years — the  tears  of  a  man,  wrung  from 


50  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

deep  within  him;   tears   of  brief  conquest  over 
himself.     He    would   stick! 

Sunrise  found  the  dust-white  flivver  once  more 
far  afield. 

The  remaining  details  of  that  odyssey  have  no 
place  here.  The  dust-white  flivver  came  safely 
to  its  destination,  and  work  duly  began  upon 
Number  Sixteen.  Days  of  hard,  back-breaking 
labour  ensued — days  in  which  living  quarters  had 
to  be  erected  before  the  claim  could  be  touched. 
In  those  days  Thaddeus  Roscius  Shea  became, 
for  good  and  all,  Thady  Shea. 

Number  Sixteen  lay  among  the  most  desolate 
of  desolate  hills,  just  over  the  ridge  of  a  long 
hogback.  In  the  canon  below  there  was  a  trickle 
of  water  from  the  mountains;  beside  this  rito  were 
erected  two  rough  shacks,  and  here  the  dust-white 
flivver  rested  peacefully.  To  the  north  towered 
the  higher  forested  ranges  whence  came  the  canon 
— the  continental  divide,  rugged  crests  leaping 
at  the  sky.  Below,  a  few  miles  distant,  stretched 
the  bad  lands  and  the  lava  beds;  a  scoriated, 
blasphemous  strip  such  as  is  often  found  in  the 
southwest.  Behind  this  lay  scattered  ranches 
and  the  road  into  Zacaton  City. 

Up  on  that  hogback,  leaning  upon  his  pick, 
stood  Thady  Shea.  Gone  was  the  threadbare 
black  raiment,  gone  and  replaced  by  overalls, 
high  boots,  flannel  shirt.  Shea  was  less  con- 
scious of  his  changed  exterior  than  were  those 


MRS.  CRUMP  HEADS  SOUTHWEST    51 

about  him.  Lewis  and  Gilbert,  preparing  a  blast- 
ing charge  a  hundred  feet  distant,  glanced  at  the 
great,  gaunt  figure. 

"Bloomed  out  most  amazing,  ain't  he?"  said 
Lewis.     "No  tinhorn,  neither.     Dead  game." 

Gilbert,  cutting  the  fuse  with  deft  fingers, 
wagged  his  head.  "Sure  looks  that-a-way, 
partner.  Reckon  Mis'  Crump  knew  her  business, 
after  all,  when  she  tied  up  with  him.  Gosh!  Ain't 
she  one  a-gile  critter,  though?" 

Shea  stood  rocklike,  watching  the  blast.  Even 
in  this  short  space  of  time  the  swing  of  axe  and 
pick  had  hardened  him  amazingly;  his  towering 
figure  seemed  to  move  with  a  more  lissome  flow  of 
muscles;  for  the  first  time  in  his  fife,  most  won- 
derful of  all,  his  deeply  fined  features  had  become 
centred  about  one  fixed  and  determined  purpose 
— to  keep  himself  clean  of  liquor.  He  had  con- 
quered, and  with  the  victory  had  come  a  new 
serenity. 

The  muffled  report  of  the  blast  echoed  dully. 
From  nowhere  appeared  Mrs.  Crump,  hastily 
coming  to  the  scene.  Shea  dropped  his  pick  and 
joined  the  others.  Mrs.  Crump,  examining  the 
results  of  the  blast,  flung  out  an  exultant  cry. 

"Got  it!" 

"Ain't  much  of  a  vein,"  observed  Gilbert, 
skeptically.  "Veins,  rather — looks  like  a  lot  of 
'em,  and  they  go  deep.  This  here  limestone  runs 
clear  to  Chiny,  I  reckon." 


52  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

Mrs.  Crump  chuckled  in  a  satisfied  manner. 

"These  here  veins  don't  never  come  big,  Gilbert. 
Who'd  think  this  here  greenish -white  stuff  was 
better 'n  a  gold  seam?  But  she  is.  Well,  never 
mind  any  more  work  a  while,  boys.  I  got  a 
letter  already  writ,  and  when  I  fill  in  the  size  o? 
these  here  openings,  she's  ready  to  mail — and 
she's  got  to  be  sent  sudden.  These  samples 
likewise. 

"Let's  see;  I  ain't  goin'  to  town  myself.  Mackin- 
c avers'  men  are  sure  to  be  watchin'  everywhere, 
and  this  here  location  has  got  to  be  kept  secret 
if  possible.  I  s'pose  the  devils  will  get  it  from 
the  land  office,  though.  Joe,  can  you  and  Al 
show  up  in  Zacaton  City  without  occasioning  no 
rumpus?'' 

Gilbert  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"I  reckon  not,  ma'am.  WVre  pretty  well 
known  there,  and  we  ain't  right  sure  how  things 
is  fixed  for  us.  Still,  it  won't  bother  us  none; 
if  you  say  so,  we'll  go " 

"Nope;  can't  take  no  chances  with  the  letter 
and  samples,  boys.  It's  up  to  Thady.  He's 
learned  how  to  run  the  car,  anyhow.  Thady,  you 
got  to  send  them  samples  and  a  letter.  No  one's 
goin'  to  suspect  you  of  bein'  partners  with  me, 
and  be  sure  to  send  the  samples  in  your  own  name, 
savvy? , 

"They's  enough  gas  to  take  you  into  Zacaton, 
and  ye  can  bring  a  fresh  supply  when  ye  come  back. 


MRS.  CRUMP  HEADS  SOUTHWEST  53 

Then  we  need  more  flour  an'  grub,  for  which  same 
I  got  a  list  made  out  already.  A  new  axe  helve, 
too.  Don't  forget  that  there  axe  helve,  what- 
ever ye  do!  It  ain't  on  the  list— I  guess  ye  can 
remember  it  all  right.  Sure,  now!  Don't  come 
without  it.     How  soon  can  ye  get  going?" 

"Now,"  said  Shea,  a  slight  smile  curving  his 
wide  lips. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  AMBITION   OF  MACKINTAVERS 

IT  IS  an  established  but  peculiar  trait  of  human 
nature,  by  which  most  of  us  desire  to  be  that 
which  we  are  not,  or  to  do  that  for  which 
we  have  no  talent.  I,  who  write,  may  aspire  to 
be  a  great  engineer;  you,  who  read,  may  aspire  to 
the  study  of  the  stars.  We  reach  out  toward 
that  which  we  may  never  grasp. 

Sandy  Mackintavers  was  a  wealthy  and  a 
powerful  man;  his  hands  were  gripped  hard  in 
both  the  politics  and  the  mining  properties  of 
the  state.  Self-made  and  self-educated,  he  had 
accomplished  a  good  job  of  it.  He  had,  of  neces- 
sity, seen  a  good  deal  of  those  men  who  were  ever 
radiating  out  from  Santa  Fe;  those  men  who,  on 
behalf  of  many  universities  and  great  museums, 
were  ever  delving  amid  the  thousands  of  pre- 
historic ruins  which  lay  in  and  between  the  valleys 
of  the  Pecos  and  the  Rio  Grande. 

Slowly,  Sandy  had  discovered  that  these  men 
were  digging  in  the  earth  for  science,  and  that 
science  and  the  world  of  letters  honoured  them. 
He  had  learned  something  of  their  "patter"  and 
of  the  things  they  were  seeking;  he  had  studied 

54 


AMBITION  OF  MACKINTAVERS      55 

their  work  and  methods  and  ideals,  and  he  had 
found  within  himself  the  makings  of  a  scientist. 
In  short,  he  had  formed  the  stupendous  ambi- 
tion of  becoming,  at  one  fell  stroke,  a  renowned 
ethnologist ! 

Do  not  smile.  In  the  course  of  thirty  years  a 
man  can  pick  up  a  great  many  divers  things,  and 
it  was  the  way  of  Mackintavers  to  pick  up  every* 
thing  in  sight.  Sandy  knew  a  great  deal  more 
than  he  appeared  to  know.  He  had  mining 
properties  all  over,  and  he  was  a  silent  partner 
in  a  chain  of  Mormon  trading  stores  that  ran 
north  from  the  Mexican  border  through  three 
states.     His  sources  of  information  were  varied. 

Being  unmarried  and  loving  his  ease  when  he 
was  in  the  city,  Mackintavers  maintained  a  suite 
at  the  Aztec  House.  He  had  entertained  many 
men  in  that  place,  some  to  their  eternal  sorrow. 
Never  had  he  entertained  a  more  distinguished 
visitor,  however,  than  the  Smithsonian  professor 
with  whom  he  was  speaking  on  this  Sunday 
morning — a  scientist  known  around  the  world, 
and  a  man  of  supreme  authority  in  ethnologic 
circles. 

"Now,  professor,"  said  Mackintavers,  bluntly, 
"I  ain't  a  college-educated  man,  but  I've  knocked 
around  this  country  for  thirty  year,  and  I  know 
a  few  things.  When  I  die,  I  aim  to  be  remem- 
bered as  something  more  than  a  mining  man, 
see?" 


56  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

The  other,  in  puzzled  suspense,  nodded  tacit 
understanding. 

"Now,"  pursued  Sandy,  chewing  hard  on  a 
cigar,  "if  I  had  something  to  give  the  Smith- 
sonian or  some  other  museum,  something  that 
would  be  a  tenstrike  for  science,  something  that 
'ud  make  every  scientific  shark  in  the  country 
water  at  the  eyes  for  envy,  what  'ud  the  Smith- 
sonian do  for  me?" 

The  professor  cleared  his  throat  and  registered 
hesitation. 

"I — ah — I  do  not  exactly  apprehend  your 
meaning,  Mr.  Mackintavers.  You  do  not  speak 
in  a  financial  sense,  I  presume?" 

"Of  course  not.  I  tell  you,  I  want  to  be  known 
as  a  scientist!  Man,  I've  got  the  biggest  thing  up 
my  sleeve  that  you  ever  struck !  Can  your  museum, 
or  any  other,  make  me  famous  as  a  scientist? 
That  is,  if  I  turn  over  a  regular  tenstrike?" 

"Ah — that  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  answer. 
A  scientific  reputation,  Mr.  Mackintavers,  is 
founded  upon  solid  bases,  upon  research  or  dis- 
coveries. If  your — ah — contribution  were  a  thing 
of  such  merit  as  you  say,  it  would  undoubtedly  be 
published  far  and  wide.  Your  name,  naturally, 
would  be  attached  to  it,  according  as  your  work 
justified." 

"In  other  words,"  amended  Sandy,  "if  I  turn 
over  a  complete  job,  I'd  get  full  credit  and  pub- 
licity?" 


AMBITION  OF  MACKINTAVERS      57 

"Yes." 

"That's  what  I  want.  I'm  interested  in  this 
ethnology  stuff,  and  I  can  do  you  sharks  a  whop- 
ping good  turn.  I  want  to  get  the  credit,  that's 
all.  Folks  call  me  a  hard-fisted  old  mining  crab, 
and  I  want  to  show  'em  that  I'm  something  more." 

"A  highly  laudable  ambition,  sir.  You  under- 
stand, however,  that  what  to  a  lay  mind  might 
appear  to  be  a  most  interesting  ethnological  fact, 
to  a  scientist  might  prove  well  known  or  insuffi- 
ciently supported " 

Mackintavers   waved   his   square   hand. 

"This  thing  is  all  assayed  and  fire  tested, 
professor,  and  I'm  no  fool.  May  I  give  you  an 
outline  of  it?" 

"If  you  care  to,  by  all  means  do  so!" 

"You  know  where  the  San  Marcos  pueblo  is — 
away  down  south  of  Bonanza?"  Mackintavers 
struck  into  his  subject  without  further  parley. 
"It  was  abandoned  about  1680  because  of  attacks 
from  the  Comanches,  who  destroyed  several 
pueblos  down  in  that  country.  There's  a  tradi- 
tion that  the  Injuns  migrated  west  of  the  Rio 
Grande  and  settled  the  Cochiti  and  Domingo 
pueblos.  Has  that  tradition  ever  been  proved 
up?" 

The  professor  evinced  an  awakening  interest. 

"No,  sir.  We  know  that  the  survivors  of  the 
Pecos  pueblo  went  to  Jimez,  but  the  older  migra- 
tions   are    hidden    in    the    mists    of    time,    un- 


58  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

fortunately.  Where  the  present  Pueblos  came 
from  we  do  not  know.     The  migrations " 

"They  won't  be  hid  very  long,"  said  Mackin- 
tavers,  complacently.  "Aiblins,  now,  we'll  clear 
'em  up  a  bit,  eh?" 

The  only  Scottish  evidences  which  remained 
from  Sandy's  youth  were  an  uncanny  acquisitive- 
ness and  a  habit  of  interjecting  the  word  "aiblins" 
into  the  conversation  at  random.  When  Sandy 
used  that  word,  it  betrayed  mental  effort. 

"Some  time  ago,"  he  resumed,  "a  man  found 
seven  stone  idols  in  a  bit  of  the  adobe  ruins  at  San 
Marcos.  They  had  been  walled  up  and  buried 
alive,  ye  might  say.  The  heavy  rains  last  year, 
which  took  out  some  pieces  of  the  adobe  walls, 
washed  'em  out.  I've  got  'em  now,  down  to  my 
ranch  near  Magdalena." 

At  this  announcement  the  professor  displayed 
mild  disappointment.  He  had  been  more  than 
interested  in  Sandy's  preamble,  but  this  supposed 
climax  caused  him  to  shake  his  gray  head  regret- 
fully. 

"My  dear  sir,  these  idols  are  of  course  very  rare 
things,  but  not  exceptionally  so.  I  fail  to  see  how 
they  would  give  any  proof  of  migration " 

"Hold  on;  I  ain't  done  yet!  A  drunken  Injun 
from  Cochiti  seen  those  idols  and  spilled  a  good 
deal  of  information,  calling  them  by  name  and  so 
on.  That  is  not  evidence  which  would  stand  on  a 
scientific  basis,  I  reckon.     But  if  a  Cochiti  man 


AMBITION  OF  MACKINTAVERS       59 

could  be  made  to  talk,  and  if  he  was  to  recognize 
those  idols  first  crack  as  his  ancestral  gods " 

"And  not  be  drunk  at  the  time,"  interjected  the 
other,  smiling. 

"Sure.  If  he  was  to  name  'em  like  old  friends, 
and  they  corresponded  with  the  same  idols  from 
Cochiti  which  are  in  various  museums — then 
wouldn't  all  this  go  to  show  mighty  plain  that  the 
migration  theory  was  true?" 

Mackintavers  leaned  back,  breathless  and  tri- 
umphant.    The    scientist    nodded    quickly. 

"Sir,  this  is  an  unusual  and  surprising  proposal,, 
but  I  cannot  deny  your  premises.  I  do  believe 
that  such  evidence  would  go  a  long  way,  could  it  be 
secured.  That,  of  course,  is  the  doubtful  point, 
for  these  red  men  can  very  seldom  be  made  to 
talk.  However,  you  have  an  astounding  percep- 
tion of  ethnologic  values  in  merely  conceiving  the 
scheme!" 

"Taken  by  and  large,  that's  nothing  but  human 
nature.     Well?" 

"If  this  proof  could  really  be  adduced,  it  would 
be  epochal!  The  possibilities,  sir,  would  be  tre- 
mendous in  their  application!" 

"It  ain't  proved  up  yet,"  returned  Sandy,  drily, 
"but  it  will  be.  It  may  take  a  bit  of  time  gettin' 
things  in  shape — a  week  or  so,  maybe.  Ye  know, 
professor,  these  Injuns  are  touchy  about  questions 
o'  deity,  and  they  have  to  be  handled  wi'  gloves. 
But  I'll  do  it!    A  bag  of  silver  dollars  will  loom 


60  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

mighty  big  to  them.  If  ye  care  to  be  on  hand 
when  the  time  comes,  I'd  be  glad  to  have  ye  as  a 
guest  at  my  ranch " 

In  many  ways  the  professor  had  an  extended 
knowledge  of  New  Mexico.  It  is  quite  possible 
that  he  knew  all  about  the  playful  habits  of  Sandy 
Mackintavers  in  regard  to  testimony  along  mining 
and  mineral  lines.  So,  while  he  did  not  restrain 
his  enthusiasm  over  the  ambition  of  his  host,  he 
made  it  plain  that  he  certainly  did  wish  to  be  on 
hand  when  the  testimony  in  this  case  was  obtained. 

Mackintavers  agreed  readily,  for  in  this  in- 
stance he  was  more  or  less  resolved  to  play  fair; 
and  the  interview  ended. 

Scarcely  had  the  scientist  departed,  than  the 
door  opened  to  admit  an  individual  of  striking 
appearance.  This  gentleman  was  the  satellite,  the 
adherent,  and  field  marshal,  the  ante  damnee,  of 
Mackintavers. 

Mormon  progenitors  had  given  him  a  stocky, 
massive  front  and  splendid  build,  a  steely  eye  and 
projecting  lower  jaw.  A  touch  of  Mexican  blood 
had  given  him  coarse  black  hair,  a  swart  com- 
plexion, and  sinister  mental  attributes.  He  had 
imuch  the  appearance  of  a  west-coast  Irishman, 
with  his  black  hair  and  gray  eyes,  but  there  the 
resemblance  ended.  Such  was  Abel  Dorales,  a 
man  of  reputation  and  education. 

"Well?"  greeted  Mackintavers,  abruptly. 
"What's  up  now?" 


AMBITION  OF  MACKINTAVERS      61 

"Trouble,"  was  the  response.  "Rodrigo  Cota 
wants  to  see  you.  Also,  I  got  a  telegram  from 
Ben  Aimes,  at  Zacaton  City,  but  haven't  de- 
coded it  yet.  I  think  it's  about  the  Crump 
woman." 

"Then  hurry  it  along,"  snapped  Mackint avers. 
"Send  Cota  in  here  pronto." 

A  moment  later  entered  the  room  a  nervous 
native,  the  same  legislator  who  had  briefly  inter- 
viewed Coravel  Tio  regarding  the  moving  of  the 
capital.  Mr.  Cota  stood  mopping  his  brow  and 
glancing  around. 

"Well,  Cota?"  exploded  Sandy,  transfixing  him 
with  frowning  gaze.  "What's  the  matter  now? 
Need  more  money  to  swing  it?" 

"Senor,"  blurted  the  legislator  in  desperation, 
"it  cannot  be  swung!" 

"Oh!    And  why  not,  Mr.  Cota?" 

"I  do  not  know.  Three  weeks  ago  we  had  a 
clear  majority.  The  measure  was  to  be  presented 
to-morrow — but  our  men  have  gone  to  pieces!" 

"Do  they  want  more  money?"  snapped  Sandy, 
savagely. 

The  native  shrugged.  "I  have  done  my  best! 
It  is  a  question  of  the  people.  In  some  way,  I 
know  not  how,  word  has  been  spread  abroad  that 
the  capital  is  to  be  changed.  Our  people  are 
furious.  Our  natives,  sir,  have  sentiment  about 
this " 

"Sentiment,  hell!"  snarled  Mackintavers,  as  his 


62  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

fist  crashed  down.  "I  tell  ye,  it's  goin'  to  be 
done!  Ain't  there  plenty  in  it  for  all,  ye  fool? 
Ain't  new  state  buildings  got  to  be  built  at 
Albuquerque?     Ain't " 

"Sen or,  it  is  no  question  of  money;  it  cannot  be 
done!  I  myself  dare  not  propose  this  bill  without 
voting  for  it;  and  I  cannot  vote  for  it." 

"Why  not?"  The  face  of  Mackintavers  was 
purpled,  seething  with  furious  passions.  Livid, 
the  native  glared  back  at  him. 

"Because  I  am  afraid  for  my  life." 

Mackintavers  leaped  to  his  feet  in  a  whirlwind 
of  rage  at  what  he  considered  a  palpable  lie.  The 
native  shrank  back,  but  doggedly,  as  though  a 
greater  fear  were  beside  him  than  any  fear  of  this 
political  master  of  his. 

At  this  instant  the  door  opened  and  Abel 
Dorales  appeared.  He  made  a  slight  gesture,  a 
gesture  of  command,  of  authority.  The  em- 
purpled countenance  of  Mackintavers  composed 
itself  by  a  mighty  effort. 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Cota,"  he  said,  thickly.  "Let 
the  bill  pass  over  for  this  time,  since  I  got  more 
important  business  on  hand  than  chasing  down  you 
native  senators.  But  let  me  tell  you  this :  When 
it  comes  up  again,  there'll  be  no  more  talk  like 
you've  just  handed  out — or  I'll  know  the  reason 
why.     Get  out!" 

Cota  took  his  hat  and  left,  thankfully.  Dorales 
closed  the  door,  while  a  flood  of  oaths  burst  from 


AMBITION  OF  MACKINTAVERS      63 

the  lips  of  Mackintavers.  With  extended  hand, 
Dorales  checked  the  flood. 

"Never  mind  that,  Sandy,"  he  said,  calmly. 
"We'll  probably  find  later  that  the  railroad  is 
doublecrossing  us.  There's  no  rush — we  can  get 
to  the  bottom  of  it  in  time.  The  more  important 
affair  is  this  of  the  Crump  woman,  so  far  as  money 
goes.  There's  a  bigger  fortune  in  this  mine  than 
in  any  political  game!" 

Uncouth  bear  that  he  was,  Mackintavers  could 
be  swayed  by  this  more  polished  tongue;  he  knew 
this  tongue  was  devoted  absolutely  to  his  own 
interests,  and  he  forced  himself  to  accept  the 
dictum  of  Dorales  at  the  moment. 

"Well?"  he  growled.  "Ye  don't  mean  to  say 
she's  down  at  Zacaton?" 

"The  wire  was  from  your  store  manager  there, 
Aimes.  He  said  merely  that  he  had  smashed  the 
Crump  outfit  flat,  and  that  I  had  better  get  there 
in  a  hurry  to  take  charge  of  things." 

"Aiblins,  yes!"  The  thin  lips  of  Sandy  curled 
back.  "We  hadn't  looked  for  such  quick  action, 
Abel.  That  Aimes  is  a  good  man!  I  s'pose  this 
news  don't  grieve  ye  none,  after  what  the  lady 
done  to  you.     How's  your  head?" 

A  fleeting  contraction  passed  across  the  face  of 
Dorales.  His  eyes  narrowed  to  thin  slits.  His 
nose  quivered  like  the  nose  of  a  dog  sniffing 
game. 

"Thank  you,  it's  quite  well,"  his  voice  was  low 


64  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

and  cruel.  "If  you  think  best,  I  shall  go  down 
there  immediately." 

Mackintavers  crammed  a  cigar  between  his 
teeth  and  chewed  at  it  for  a  moment. 

"Aiblins,  yes,"  he  mused  aloud.  "Somebody 
has  blocked  us  on  this  moving-the-eapital  bill.  I 
won't  get  hold  of  the  skunk  right  away,  neither;  we 
might's  well  call  it  off  until  the  next  session. 

"Tell  ye  what,  Abel!  I'm  fixing  to  spend  a 
while  at  my  ranch,  so  I'll  go  south  with  ye.  I'll 
need  ye  mighty  bad  to  get  that  business  of  the 
Injun  gods  moving  along,  because  I  got  my  heart 
set  on  doin'  that  up  brown.  But  as  ye  say,  this 
mine  means  millions — the  biggest  strike  in  the  state 
in  a  long  time.  The  assayer  was  positive  it  was 
strontianite  and  not  merely  barytes?" 

"Dead  certain,"  assented  Dorales. 

"Well,  it  won't  be  such  a  long  job;  I'll  be  at  the 
ranch  where  ye  can  reach  me  quick.  We'll  have  to 
find  out  what  Aimes  has  done,  then  make  plans  and 
go  ahead.  If  there's  one  thing  that  the  Lord  gave 
me  ability  to  do,  it  was  to  handle  mining  deals!" 

"With  a  cold  deck,"  added  Dorales.  "Very 
well.  If  we  go  by  auto,  we  can  save  a  good  deal  of 
time." 

Mackintavers  grimaced.  "I  ain't  built  for  long 
trips,  but  go  ahead.  Get  the  big  car,  Abel.  Want 
to  run  her  yourself?  All  right.  Land  me  at  the 
ranch,  then  go  on  to  Zacaton  City  with  the  ranch 
flivver,  unless  ye  want  the  big  car." 


AMBITION  OF  MACKENTAVERS      65 

"The  flivver  is  the  thing  down  there." 

"Aiblins,  yes.  And  mind!  What  we  got  to  da 
is  to  get  that  Crump  female  clear  off'n  her  location; 
that's  all.  Aimes  has  evidently  found  some 
means  of  gettin'  her  arrested.  We  can  take  that 
for  granted.  By  the  time  you  get  there,  she'll  be 
in  the  calaboose. 

"You  telephone  me  at  the  ranch  with  a  full 
account  of  what's  happened,  and  I'll  have  a 
scheme  ready  for  ye.  The  main  thing  is  to  get 
possession  of  the  property;  maybe  we  can  frame  a 
deal  on  this  fellow  Shea — it's  all  held  in  his  name, 
ain't  it?  That  was  a  foxy  move,  but  not  foxy 
enough  to  fool  us  long!  Get  possession,  Abel,  and 
the  law  will  do  the  rest  for  us." 

"It  ought  to!"  Dorales  showed  white  and  even 
teeth  as  he  smiled. 

Mackintavers  met  those  steely  eyes  beneath 
their  strangely  black  brows,  and  his  square  mouth 
unfolded  in  a  grin. 

"Get  possession,  that's  all!"  he  uttered. 

"Consider  it  done,  Sandy.  If  you'll  be  ready  in 
an  hour,  I'll  be  around  with  the  car." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THADY   SHEA   SMELLS   WHISKEY 

THE  little  town  of  Zacaton  City,  within 
easy  trucking  distance  of  the  railroad, 
formed  the  nucleus  of  a  goodly  mining 
centre.  Its  residential  section  was  extensive,  and 
consisted  of  adobes  occupied  by  " native"  miners 
or  workmen.  Its  business  section  was  made  up 
chiefly  of  a  bank,  the  Central  Mercantile  Store, 
hardware,  drug,  and  harness  shops,  and  a  soda- 
water  parlour  that  adjoined  the  Central  Mercantile. 
This  last  was  a  blind  pig,  maintained  with  cir- 
cumspection and  profit  by  Ben  Aimes,  manager  of 
the  store.  Aimes  also  ran  the  combination  hotel- 
garage  across  the  street. 

Thady  Shea  came  into  town  about  sunset.  He 
had  broken  bread  on  the  way,  and  disdained  to 
seek  further  dinner.  Having  been  much  cau- 
tioned, he  was  wary  of  danger.  Leaving  the 
dust-white  flivver  at  the  garage,  he  went  to  the 
express  office  and  sent  off  his  ore  samples  and 
letter,  then  he  sought  the  emporium  of  Ben 
Aimes. 

The  two  native  clerks  being  busy,  Aimes,  a 
brisk  fellow  of  thirty,  espied  the  tall  figure  of 

66 


THADY  SHEA  SMELLS  WHISKEY     67 

Shea,  and  in  person  took  charge  of  the  cus- 
tomer. 

"Well,  partner,  what  can  I  do  for  you?"  he 
inquired,  cheerfully.  "Can't  say  as  I've  seen  you 
before.     Stranger  in  town?" 

Shea  fumbled  in  his  pocket  for  the  list  of  sup- 
plies, and  transfixed  the  merchant  with  his  cavern- 
ous black  eyes.  He  had  been  particularly  warned 
against  Aimes. 

"Friend,"  he  trumpeted,  "you  say  sooth. 
Truth  sits  upon  thy  lips,  marry  it  does ! " 

Aimes  blinked  rapidly.  "Stranger,  I  don't  get 
you!     You're  a  prospector?" 

"That,  sir,  is  somewhat  of  my  present  business," 
boomed  Shea.  "Yet  have  I  seen  the  day  when 
every  room  hath  blazed  with  lights  and  brayed 
with  minstrelsy,  when  thick-eyed  musing  and 
cursed  melancholy  fled  from  before  me  like  twin 
evil  spirits!  Make  ready,  friend,  thy  pencil  for 
its  task." 

Those  sonorous  tones  drew  grinning  attention 
from  others.  Aimes,  quite  overcome  by  the 
rounded  periods  and  the  imposing  gestures,  asked 
no  more  questions,  but  devoted  himself  to  making 
ready  packages  as  Shea  read  off  from  his  list  the 
supplies  required. 

Two  or  three  loafers  sauntered  along  and 
listened  to  Shea's  enunciation  with  awed  delight. 
When  the  end  of  the  list  was  reached,  the  amounts 
totalled,    and   the    money    handed    over,    Thady 


68  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

Shea  carelessly  crumpled  up  the  list  and  tossed  it 
behind  the  counter. 

His  arms  filled  with  the  bundles,  he  left  the 
store  and  crossed  the  street  to  his  car.  He  had 
laid  up  the  flivver  for  the  night,  and  now  attended 
to  having  it  filled  with  gas  and  oil.  He  stated  to 
the  mechanic  that  he  might  be  here  for  several 
days;  at  this  juncture,  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
had  forgotten  that  axe  helve  which  Mrs.  Crump 
had  demanded  especially. 

Meantime,  Ben  Aimes  had  retrieved  the  list  of 
supplies,  and  had  stared  at  the  uncrumpled  paper 
with  amazed  recognition.  He  swiftly  summoned 
one  of  the  idling  loafers. 

"If  this  ain't  the  writing  of  Mrs.  Crump,  I'm  a 
liar!  You  chase  over  to  the  garage  and  get  the 
number  o'  that  feller's  car — hump,  now!" 

Thady  Shea  reentered  the  store,  in  blissful 
ignorance  that  he  was  done  for,  and  demanded  his 
axe  helve.  Ben  Aimes,  in  blissful  ignorance  of 
what  that  axe  helve  was  destined  to  mean  to  him 
and  to  others,  filled  the  order.  Then,  handling 
Shea  his  change,  Aimes  gave  him  a  meaning  wink. 

4 'Step  into  the  sody  parlour  a  minute,  stranger! 
Have  a  cigar  on  the  store." 

The  offer  was  entirely  innocuous.  Shea  greatly 
desired  to  avoid  any  argument  or  trouble,  so  he 
followed  Aimes  into  the  adjoining  room,  which  at 
this  hour  was  deserted.  Aimes  procured  cigars, 
then  went  to  the  soda  fountain. 


THADY  SHEA  SMELLS  WHISKEY     69 

'Want  you  to  try  somethin'  new  we  got  here," 
he  said,  and  paused.  "What  did  you  say  your 
name  was?" 

"My  cognomen,  sir,  is  Shea.     Thaddeus  Shea." 

"Well,  Shea,  just  hold  this  under  your  nose  and 
see  if  it  smells  like  sody." 

L'nsuspicious  as  any  innocent,  Shea  took  the 
proffered  glass  and  held  it  to  his  nose.  A  tremor 
ran  through  him — an  uncontrollable  shiver  that 
sent  fever  into  his  eyes.  He  lowered  the  glass 
slightly  and  forced  a  ghastly  smile.  Already 
defeat  had  engulfed  him. 

"Friend,  I  am  sorry  thus  to  disappoint  you,  but 
I  have  sworn  that  never " 

"Shucks!"  Aimes  grinned  and  held  up  his 
own  glass.  To  meet  it,  that  of  Shea  again  came 
within  sniffing  distance.  "Just  one  between 
business  acquaintances,  Mr.  Shea.  It's  the  finest 
licker  ever  got  to  this  city!  Absolutely  twenty 
year  old,  partner.  One  little  snifter  now — don't  it 
smell  good?     The  real  thing,  the  real  thing!" 

Thady  Shea's  entire  system  was  impregnated  by 
that  whiff.  His  big  fingers  closed  upon  the  little 
glass  with  a  convulsive  contraction. 

"One,  sir,  and  one  only!"  he  declaimed.  "To 
the  dead  god  Bacchus,  all  hail!" 

He  tossed  down  the  drink  and  smacked  his  lips. 

It  was  upon  a  Saturday  evening  that  these 
things  happened.  That  smell  had  done  the  busi- 
ness for  Thady  Shea;  that  raw  odour  of  whiskey, 


70  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

which  in  a  flash  had  permeated  to  the  very  deeps 
of  his  being  with  its  awful  lure.  No  guile,  no 
argument  could  have  forced  him  to  drink,  but  that 
sniff  had  ruined  him  utterly. 

Twenty  minutes  later,  in  maudlin  confidence,  he 
was  relating  to  Ben  Aimes  how  two  miners  of  his 
acquaintance  had  driven  several  hundred  miles  in 
deadly  fear  of  being  hoisted  by  dynamite  at  every 
jolt. 

Shea  mentioned  no  names.  Drunk  or  not,  he 
knew  subconsciously  that  he  must  mention  no 
names.  Also  subconsciously,  he  knew  that  he 
must  hang  on  to  his  axe  helve  or  Mrs.  Crump 
would  be  much  disappointed  in  him.  So  he  was 
still  hanging  on  to  it  when,  after  a  parting  drink, 
he  was  thrust  forth  into  the  cold  night  air. 
That  parting  drink  had  been  soggy  with  opiates. 

Ben  Aimes  went  to  the  telephone  and  called  up 
the  sheriff  at  Silver  City. 

"This  is  Aimes  at  Zacaton,  Bill,"  he  said.  "A 
queer  guy  just  blew  in  here  to-night  with  a  grand 
souse  and  is  sleeping  it  off  now.  You  know  old 
lady  Crump,  don't  you?  Heard  of  her  at  any  rate. 
Well,  he  says  that  she's  out  in  the  hills  a  piece  with 
two  other  fellers.  These  two  were  run  out  o' 
Magdalena  last  month  for  talking  agin'  the  gov'- 
ment  and  they're  said  to  be  dangerous  characters. 
The  place  is  north  o'  the  bad  lands,  over  in  Socorro 
County. 

"The  p'int  is,  Bill,  this  here  guy  says  they've  got 


THADY  SHEA  SMELLS  WHISKEY     71 

heap  o'  dynamite  and  such  stuff  out  there.  Them 
two  anarchists  ought  to  be  prevented  usin*  it; 
according  to  this  guy,  they  got  no  licenses  and 
never  heard  o'  the  new  license  law.  This  here 
is  plumb  illegal  and  you'd  ought  to  stop  it.  Both 
these  fellers  are  I.  W.  W.  organizers,  he  says,  and 
prob'ly  are  German  spies;  this  guy  talked  with  a 
queer  kind  of  accent. 

"No,  I  wouldn't  think  it  o'  Mrs.  Crump,  neither, 
but  you  never  can  tell  these  days.  What's  that? 
Well,  I  got  the  location  pretty  straight  from  this 
guy.  Yep,  a  car  can  make  it;  he  come  into  town 
that  way.  Get  up  on  the  night  train  and  you  can 
take  my  car  out  there.  Sure,  I'll  meet  the  train. 
You're  welcome." 

This  pleasant  duty  finished,  Aimes  dispatched  a 
lengthy  telegram  to  Abel  Dorales  at  Santa  Fe.  He 
then  summoned  the  constable  in  search  of  Thady 
Shea.  But  Shea  had  vanished  from  human  ken, 
although  the  dust- white  flivver  remained  in  the 
garage.    . 

Bright  and  early  next  morning  Aimes  departed 
in  his  automobile,  went  to  the  railroad  and  met  the 
sheriff,  and  brought  that  official  back  to  town. 
The  hardware  merchant  was  pressed  into  service 
as  a  deputy,  and  the  sheriff  took  over  Aimes'  car. 

"I'd  like  to  go  along  myself,"  said  Aimes, 
regretfully,  "but  I  got  to  'tend  the  garridge  myself 
to-day  account  of  my  mechanic  hurting  himself 
last  night  and  being  laid  up.     Tell  ye  what,  Bill! 


72  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

Why  not  take  the  whole  crowd  right  down  to  Silver 
City?  It'll  save  ye  comin'  back  here,  and  your 
new  deppity  yonder  can  fetch  the  car  back  here. 
Sure,  you're  dead  welcome!  I  ain't  got  no  use  for 
the  car  anyhow." 

To  this  arrangement  the  sheriff  consented 
gladly,  and  Aimes  watched  them  depart  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye.  Before  Mrs.  Crump  could 
possibly  return  from  Silver  City,  to  say  nothing  of 
her  two  men,  Abel  Dorales  would  be  on  the  spot 
to  take  charge  of  things.  Aimes  considered  that 
he  had  managed  things  very  neatly  indeed,  and  he 
mentally  patted  himself  on  the  back  that  morning. 

Ben  Aimes,  however,  did  not  take  local  politics 
into  account.  It  is  such  little  unconsidered 
trifles  which  very  often  go  to  make  up  the  warp  of 
affairs  of  larger  moment. 

Only  a  few  months  previously  an  ancient  and 
honourable  gentleman  by  the  name  of  Ferris  had 
been  ousted  from  the  job  of  justice  of  the  peace, 
mainly  on  account  of  certain  hostility  to  Ben 
Aimes  and  the  Mackint avers  forces.  It  is  quite 
possible  that  old  man  Ferris  was  no  good  as  a 
justice,  yet  he  had  an  inconspicuous  but  important 
part  to  play  in  the  tangled  affairs  of  Thady  Shea 
and  Sandy  Mackintavers,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
seven  stone  gods. 

In  broad  daylight,  therefore,  Thady  Shea  came 
to  his  senses.  While  slow  remembrance  dawned 
upon  him,  he  found  himself  reposing  in  the  back 


THADY  SHEA  SMELLS  WHISKEY     73 

yard  of  an  adobe  house;  how  he  got  there  was 
never  explained.  A  furred  tongue  and  an  aching 
head  gradually  brought  home  some  errant  sense  of 
shame.  This  feeling  was  intensified  by  a  goat- 
like visage  above  him. 

"Well,  pilgrim!"  sounded  a  raucous  voice. 
"Slep'itoff,  have  ye?" 

Shea  groaned  and  sat  up.  "Where — where  am 
I?" 

"Town  of  Zacaton  City,  county  o'  Grant,  State 
o'  New  Mexico."  The  other  chuckled.  He  was  a 
disreputable  old  fellow,  distinguished  by  shiftless 
garb  and  dirty  gray  hair.  "I  reckon  Ben  Aimes 
must  have  give  ye  quite  a  jag,  eh?  If  I  was  you, 
I'd  spill  out  o'  town  right  smart.  He's  got  the 
constable  lookin'  for  ye." 

Shea  clasped  his  head  and  groaned  again,  not 
understanding  the  words  clearly. 

"I've  fallen!"  he  moaned. 

"With  a  thud,"  agreed  the  other.  "But 
worse'n  that,  pilgrim.  Ye've  gone  and  got  ol' 
Mis'  Crump  in  real  bad.  If  ye  wasn't  so  mis'able 
I'd  boot  ye  out  o'  here  for  it." 

Thady  Shea  stared  up  dully.  "What— what's 
that  you  say?" 

Old  man  Ferris  surveyed  him  in  pitying  con- 
tempt, and  carefully  sank  his  remaining  fangs 
into  a  plug  of  tobacco. 

"D'ye  mean  as  ye  don't  know  what  ye  been  an' 
done?     Well,  I  can't  say  as  I  can  see  why  Mis' 


74  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

Crump  ever's  taken  up  with  the  likes  of  you,  but 
it's  plumb  certain  that  ye've  gone  an'  done  for 
her  this  trip,  ye  no-account  swine!" 

Shea's  brow  broke  into  cold  perspiration.  His 
quickening  faculties  began  to  grasp  the  sense  of 
these  words. 

"Expound!"  he  said.     "What  have  I  done?'  ' 

"A  plenty.  The  sheriff  come  over  this  mornin\ 
Him  and  a  deppity  has  gone  to  arrest  Mis'  Crump — 
and  all  along  o'  you,  ye  mis'able  coyote!" 

"Arrest  her?  Why?"  Shea  stared,  his  heart 
sinking.  So  piteous  was  his  gaze  that  old  man 
Ferris  turned  aside,  spat,  and  resumed  his  dis- 
course in  kindlier  tones. 

"Don't  ye  know  that  they's  a  new  law  about 
explosives?  Well,  they  is.  Everybody  what 
handles  powder  or  dynamite  has  got  to  have 
a  license.  From  what  I  gather,  Mis'  Crump 
ain't  wise  to  it  and  ain't  got  none. 

"Last  night  you  done  blabbed  out  your  soul 
to  Aimes.  Danged  fool!  Why  did  Aimes  git 
the  sheriff  after  Mis'  Crump?  Ain't  but  one 
answer  to  that — so's  that  devil  Mackintavers 
could  profit!  And  sheriff's  goin'  to  take  'em  to 
Silver  City,  too.  If  Mis'  Crump  has  located 
an  ore  prop'ty,  as  looks  likely,  Mackintavers  is 
after  it. 

"Once  she  gits  out'n  the  way  and  they  ain't 
nobody  to  hold  down  the  location,  some  o'  Mackin- 
tavers' crowd  is  going  to  jump  it  sure's  shooting! 


THADY  SHEA  SMELLS  WHISKEY     75 

Huh!     Git  out'n  my  back  yard  'fore  I  come  back, 
ye  swine!" 

Snorting  angrily,  old  man  Ferris  turned  and 
stamped  away,  and  so  out  of  the  story.  He  had 
fulfilled  Ins  share  in  destiny,  with  greater  measure 
than  he  knew. 

Thady  Shea  sat  staring,  his  eyes  terrible  with 
comprehension.  With  every  moment  that  final 
exposition  sank  more  deeply  into  his  brain.  The 
ghastly  consequences  of  his  own  weakness  left 
him  stunned  and  paralyzed. 

He  could  dimly  remember  what  had  happened, 
up  to  that  final  drink.  He  was  certain  that  he 
had  not  mentioned  the  name  of  Mehitabel  Crump. 
Yet  he  could  remember  telling  about  those  explo- 
sives; as  he  connected  things,  he  groaned  again. 
Aimes  had  been  pumping  him,  of  course;  had 
somehow  suspected  something. 

The  pitiless  deduction  of  old  man  Ferris  struck 
upon  Shea's  brain  like  a  trip-hammer.  The 
mine  was  left  unprotected,  or  soon  would  be, 
and  Mackint avers'  men  would  grab  it.  Of 
course ! 

Frightful  remorse  crumpled  Thady  Shea,  men- 
tally and  bodily.  He  owed  all  that  he  was,  all 
that  he  might  be,  to  Mrs.  Crump;  yet  his  action 
had  literally  ruined  her.  That  cursed  sniff  of 
whiskey  had  done  it!  Shea  wasted  no  recrimina- 
tion upon  himself  for  his  lapse  from  rectitude. 
He  had  gone  through  all  that  before.     It  was  the 


76  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

consequence  of  this  lapse  that  horrified  him,  that 
lashed  down  upon  his  soul. 

"What  have  I  done!"  he  mumbled,  groping 
for  coherency.     "What  have  I   done!" 

All  the  old  memories  of  Mrs.  Crump  flooded 
into  his  mind.  He  recalled  all  her  actions  and 
words,  he  pictured  mentally  all  the  deep  waters 
of  human  kindness  that  lay  hidden  below  her 
mask  of  harshness,  he  visioned  anew  how  she  had 
picked  him  out  of  the  very  gutter  and  had  set  him 
upon  his  feet,  a  man.     How  had  he  repaid  her? 

In  this  hour  Thady  Shea  was  cast  absolutely 
upon  himself.  There  was  none  to  whom  he  might 
go  for  advice  or  aid.  He  was  alone  with  his  con- 
sciousness of  guilt,  alone  with  the  remorse  that 
ate  into  his  heart  like  acid.  A  month  previously 
he  would  have  mouthed  a  curse  at  the  world  and 
have  gone  shambling  away  in  search  of  the  nearest 
saloon,  where  he  would  have  recited  "The  Face 
on  the  Barroom  Floor"  as  the  sure  and  certain 
price  of  liquor. 

This  thought  recurred  to  him.  He  pictured 
himself  as  he  was  a  month  ago.  From  his  lips  was 
wrenched  an  inarticulate  cry,  the  voice  of  a  soul 
in  anguish.  Heedless  of  the  burning  ache  in  his 
head,  he  brought  his  long  body  erect  and  looked 
up  at  the  sky. 

"Oh,  God!"  he  said,  a  dry  sob  in  his  throat. 
"Oh,  God!  I  have  scoffed  and  blasphemed  be- 
cause You  let  me  stumble  down  into  hell.     It 


THADY  SHEA  SMELLS  WHISKEY     77 

was  my  own  fault,  God.  Now,  for  the  sake  of 
that  woman  who  helped  me  to  find  myself,  it's  up 
to  You  to  give  me  a  hand!  I  don't  know  what 
to  do.  But  I've  got  to  make  up  for  this  thing 
that  I've  done,  and  there  is  no  one  to  help  me 
except  You — and  it's  for  her  sake " 

The  words  failed,  for  as  he  spoke  out  his  heart 
the  deepness  of  feeling  that  had  laid  hold  upon 
him  ebbed;  just  as  the  bitterness  of  grief  ebbs 
with  tears.  A  tremor  shook  him,  and  for  a 
moment  he  stood  motionless. 

Close  at  hand  was  an  aeequia,  an  open  ditch 
with  running  water.  He  went  to  it,  kneeled,  and 
plunged  his  head  into  the  water;  it  cooled  his 
brain  and  steadied  him.  He  rose  and  saw  his 
axe  helve  lying  where  he  had  lain  that  night.  He 
picked  it  up  and  stood  there,  indecision  eating  into 
him. 

What  was  to  be  done?  He  must  do  something. 
The  constable  was  seeking  him — why?  No  mat- 
ter. The  name  of  Ben  Aimes  explained  every- 
thing. The  morning  was  wearing  along,  and 
by  this  time  all  hope  of  warning  Mrs.  Crump 
was  gone.  Of  course,  there  was  the  dust-white 
flivver.  He  could  take  that  and  sneak  back  to 
the  mine.     It  would  be  deserted. 

Deserted?  But  that  was  what  Mackintavers 
wanted,  according  to  this  disreputable  ancient! 
That  was  why  Mrs.  Crump  was  under  arrest! 
That  was  the  aim  and  purpose  of  the  whole  affair — 


78  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

to  have  the  mine  left  deserted,  so  that  the  man 
Dorales  could  step  in  and  seize  upon  it. 

The  gaunt,  grim  face  of  Shea  tightened  and 
hardened.  "One  thing  I  can  do — go  there,"  he 
reflected.  "What  the  hell  have  I  to  worry  about 
— can  they  do  any  worse  to  me  than  I  have  done 
to  myself?  No.  They'll  try  to  arrest  me,  they'll 
try  to  keep  me  here.  They  can't  do  it!  I'm 
going." 

As  he  left  the  place  and  sought  the  road,  there 
was  a  sublime  unconsciousness  of  self  in  him.  He 
was  in  no  condition  of  mind  to  do  the  usual,  the 
conventional  thing,  the  thing  that  any  sane  man 
would  have  done,  the  thing  that  any  one  would 
be  expected  to  do. 

No!  From  that  hour,  Shea  was  a  different 
man.  He  had  entered  upon  this  new  and  primi- 
tive existence,  and  now  it  took  hold  upon  him. 
His  course  of  life  had  been  abruptly  shifted,  and 
he  was  climbing  new  paths;  as  he  climbed,  the 
exhilaration  of  the  heights  sang  in  his  blood.  He 
had  flung  away  the  lessons  of  his  old  dreary  years. 
Now  his  actions  were  to  be  the  simple,  terrible,  and 
impulsive  actions  of  a  child  who  fears  no  con- 
sequences. 

Finding  that  he  was  only  a  couple  of  blocks 
from  the  main  street  of  the  town,  Shea  walked 
toward  it,  the  axe  helve  still  in  his  hand.  He 
meant  to  take  out  his  flivver  and  go. 

There  was  no  church  in  Zacaton  City,  and  it 


THADY  SHEA  SMELLS  WHISKEY     79 

was  not  yet  time  for  the  Mormon  chapel  to  open. 
The  garage  doors  were  wide.  In  front,  standing 
in  the  warm  sunlight,  Ben  Aimes  was  chatting  with 
the  constable  about  the  mysterious  disappearance 
of  the  man  Shea.  Half-a-dozen  idlers  were  lined 
up  to  one  side,  smoking  and  discussing  the  coming 
and  going  of  the  sheriff.  Around  the  corner  of  the 
store,  across  the  street,  swung  the  gaunt  figure  of 
Shea. 

"By  gosh!"  exclaimed  Aimes,  staring.  He 
clutched  the  arm  of  the  constable.  "There's  the 
cuss  now!  Lay  him  up  until  Dorales  gets  here 
to-morrow,  anyhow.  Whew!  I'm  glad  he's 
showed  up  at  last.  Must  ha'  been  laying  in  a 
ditch." 

The  loafers  galvanized  into  sudden  interest. 
The  constable  started  across  the  street  and  met 
Shea  midway.  He  held  out  one  hand,  with  the 
other  showing  his  badge  of  office. 

"Get  out  of  my  way,"  said  Shea,  lifelessly, 
looking  through  him. 

"None  o'  that,  now,"  snorted  the  constable. 
"You  come  along  with  me." 

With  a  smack  that  was  heard  for  half  a  block, 
the  axe  helve  swung  a  vicious  half -circle  and  landed 
over  the  officer's  ear.  The  constable  threw  out 
his  hands  and  fell  on  his  face,  lying  motionless. 
Shea   strode   forward. 

"Lay  on  to  him,  boys,  he's  locoed!"  cried  Aimes, 
turning  to  the  men  behind.     He   whirled  again 


80  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

to  face  Shea,  and  his  right  hand  crept  to  his  hip. 
"Hello,  Shea!  lay  down  that " 

"You  gave  me  a  drink  last  night,  didn't  you?" 
said  Shea,  halting  before  him. 

Aimes  laughed,  thinking  that  he  perceived  what 
was  in  the  other's  mind. 

"Oh,  want  another,  do  ye?"  he  returned. 
"Well,   lay  down  that " 

"You're  the  man  that  gave  me  a  drink,"  said 
Shea.  His  deep  bass  voice  boomed  upon  the 
morning  air  like  a  bell.  "If  any  man  dares  to 
give  me  a  drink  again,  he'll  get  worse  than 
this." 

Aimes  suddenly  perceived  danger,  and  whipped 
out  his  weapon.  Swifter  than  his  hand  was  the 
axe  helve.  It  struck  his  wrist  and  knocked  the 
revolver  away.  As  he  staggered  to  the  blow, 
the  axe  helve  swung  again  and  smote  him  over  the 
head.  Aimes  made  a  queer  noise  in  his  throat  and 
limply  sank  down. 

There  was  something  frightful  in  the  deliberate 
way  those  two  men  had  been  felled.  For  a 
moment  Shea  stood  gazing  at  the  loafers,  who 
shrank  back  before  his  blazing  eyes.     Then: 

"I'll  do  worse  than  this  to  any  man  who  dares 
give  me  a  drink  again,"  he  said. 

Without  further  heed,  he  passed  into  the 
garage.  Up  and  down  the  street  men  were  calling, 
running.  The  group  outside  the  place  looked  at 
each  other,  their  faces  blanched. 


THADY  SHEA  SMELLS  WHISKEY     81 

"My  Lord!"  'gasped  someone.  "He's  done 
killed  'em  both!     In  after  him,  boys." 

Thady  Shea  laid  down  his  bludgeon  in  front 
of  the  dust-white  flivver,  and  began  to  crank. 
For  almost  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  struck 
a  man  in  cold  anger;  more  terrible  than  this 
thought,  however,  was  the  acidlike  bitterness  in 
his  soul. 

Just  as  the  engine  caught  and  roared,  Shea, 
rising,  saw  over  his  shoulder  the  string  of  men 
pouring  in  upon  him.  He  had  no  time  to  get  into 
his  car.  With  a  quick  motion  he  caught  up  the 
axe  helve;  swiftly  the  foremost  men  flung  them- 
selves upon  him,  and  found  him  facing  them. 

There  in  the  obscurity  of  the  little  garage  ensued 
a  scene  that  is  still  told  of  from  Silver  City  to 
Magdalena.  All  noise  was  drowned  in  the  roar 
of  the  engine  that  throbbed  behind  Shea.  Out- 
side, other  men  paused  to  ask  what  was  going  on, 
to  group  about  the  figures  of  Aimes  and  the  con- 
stable.    Inside,  Shea  fought  for  more  than  his  life. 

There  were  six  men  against  him;  yet,  in  the 
felling  of  those  two  outside,  the  battle  had  been 
half  won,  for  the  cold  terror  of  Shea's  blows  had 
made  itself  felt.  The  first  man  at  him  shrieked 
out  and  fell,  crawling  away  with  a  broken  arm. 
The  others  came  in  before  Shea  could  recover 
from  the  blow,  and  fastened  upon  him  like  dogs 
upon  a  mountain  lion. 

Silent,  deadly,  Shea  swung  up  his  weapon  and 


82  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

waited.  He  took  their  blows  without  return. 
He  braced  himself  against  the  throbbing  car 
behind  him,  and  awaited  his  time.  Then  he 
began  to  strike.  There  was  nothing  blind  and 
frantic  in  his  blows;  rather  there  was  something 
fearful  and  inhuman,  for  inside  him  was  that  which 
rendered  him  insensible  to  the  smiting  fists,  and 
when  he  brought  down  his  weapon  it  was  with 
simple  and  deadly  intent. 

Three  times,  he  struck,  each  time  lifting  on  his 
toes,  and  twice  lifting  one  man  who  had  fastened 
about  his  waist.  To  his  three  blows,  a  man 
reeled  away  into  the  darkness;  a  second  plunged 
forward  beneath  an  adjacent  car;  a  third  ran 
screaming  into  the  open  air,  across  his  face  a 
bloody  blotch.  A  fourth  man,  unhurt,  turned 
and  ran. 

Shea  looked  down,  curiously,  at  the  last  assail- 
ant, who  was  still  gripping  him  around  the  waist, 
trying  to  bend  him  backward.  Then  he  deliber- 
ately heaved  up  his  axe  helve  and  brbught  down  the 
rounded  oval  of  the  half  against  the  man's  head 
twice.  At  the  second  crunching  blow  the  man's 
grip  relaxed.  Shea  threw  him,  staggering  and 
clutching,  clear  across  the  garage  floor,  then  turned 
and  leaped  into  his  car. 

With  a  grinding  roar  and  a  honk  of  the  horn, 
the  dust-white  flivver  went  out  of  the  wide-open 
doorway  into  the  street. 

Men    jumped    aside,    yelled,    pursued.     Some- 


THADY  SHEA  SMELLS  WHISKEY     83 

bodv  fired  a  revolver,  and  the  bullet  smashed  the 
windshield  in  front  of  Shea's  face.  Other  shots 
sounded,  but  flew  wild.  The  car  went  around 
the  nearest  corner  on  two  wheels,  and  shot  away 
toward  the  west  at  thirty  miles  an  hour. 
Thady  Shea  had  come  and  gone. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THADY   SHEA   HAS  A   VISITOR 

THADY  SHEA  was  on  his  way  to  Number 
Sixteen.  The  sheriff  was  on  his  way  to 
Silver  City  with  Mrs.  Crump,  Gilbert,  and 
Lewis.  In  the  ordinary  course  of  events,  Thady 
Shea  would  have  encountered  them  in  the  cafion 
north  of  No  Agua.  The  ordinary  course  of  events 
did  not  obtain,  however,  because  of  Ben  Aimes. 
Having  sustained  nothing  worse  than  a  broken 
wrist  and  a  sore  head,  Ben  Aimes  upon  being  re- 
vived at  once  telephoned  the  store  and  post  office  at 
No  Agua  to  stop  Thady  Shea.  No  Agua  was  the 
jumping-off  place  at  the  edge  of  the  bad  lands, 
and  it  was  nothing  but  a  long  frame  building  from 
which  radiated  all  the  canon  trails  to  north  and  west. 
When  Shea  arrived,  he  found  a  reception  com- 
mittee awaiting  him  in  the  shape  of  a  dozen 
men,  most  of  whom  were  mounted  upon  horses 
or  mules  as  if  they  had  convened  for  a  Sunday 
holiday.  Shea  needed  no  information  upon  the 
subject  of  his  reception.  He  had  previously  ob- 
served the  telephone  wires  and  had  drawn  his 
own  conclusions.  As  he  drew  near  to  No  Agua  he 
was  the  recipient  of  a  bullet  that  finished  off  the 

84 


THADY  SHEA  HAS  A  VISITOR       85 

windshield  and  sent  a  sliver  of  glass  slithering 
across  his  forehead. 

What  next  happened  was  wild  and  incoherent 
in  all  subsequent  reports.  Shea  cared  absolutely 
nothing  for  results,  so  long  as  he  got  through. 
When  he  found  his  path  barred  by  mounted  men, 
he  opened  up  the  throttle  wide,  shut  his  eyes,  and 
gripped  hard  to  the  wheel.  General  opinion  was 
that  the  first  bullet  had  killed  him  and  that  the 
car  was  running  wild;  for  blood  was  trickling 
over  his  face  from  his  slashed  brow,  and  he  was 
a  fearsome  sight. 

The  dust-white  flivver  smashed  head-on  into 
the  mass  of  men  and  horses.  It  paused  as  though 
for  breath,  then  went  ahead.  The  radiator  was 
boiling  over;  and  when  that  red-hot  projectile 
began  to  bore  its  way,  things  happened.  The 
steam  seared  into  a  big  mule,  and  the  mule  in- 
stantly began  to  plunge  and  kick.  Two  horses 
went  down  and  the  flivver  climbed  over  them  and 
their  riders.  A  vaquero  was  pitched  across  the 
hood  and  with  screams  of  anguish  managed 
to  leap  away  to  earth.  A  horse  sat  on  the  right- 
hand  fender  and  toppled  over  upon  his  rider  as 
the  car  went  ahead. 

After  a  moment  Thady  Shea  opened  his  eyes 
and  looked  back  upon  a  scene  of  wonderful  con- 
fusion. Men  and  horses  strewed  the  ground  or 
were  plunging  in  all  directions.  With  a  sigh  of 
relief  Thady  Shea  found  that  he  was  still  going 


86  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

forward;  so,  in  order  to  avoid  the  bullets  that 
came  swarming  and  buzzing  after  him,  he  aimed 
for  the  nearest  canon,  which  was  not  his  proper 
road  at  all,  and  followed  the  trail  blindly. 

An  hour  later  this  trail  petered  out  at  an  aban- 
doned mine  in  the  bad  lands.  With  a  vague  gen- 
eral idea  of  his  directions,  Shea  went  plunging 
off  through  the  sand,  winding  his  way  past  huge, 
eroded  masses  and  amid  weird  pinnacles  of  wind- 
blown rock.  Somewhere  past  noon  he  was  in  the 
lava  beds,  and  was  apprised  of  the  fact  by  his 
tires  blowing  out  one  by  one. 

Lack  of  pneumatic  cushions  did  not  trouble 
Shea  in  the  least.  He  punished  the  poor  flivver 
unmercifully,  and  by  the  eternal  miracle  of  flivvers 
the  car  kept  going.  Shea  climbed  rocky  masses, 
shoved  through  sand,  rolled  over  jutty  fields  of 
volcanic  rock,  and  when  the  afternoon  was  half 
gone,  came  upon  automobile  tracks.  He  had 
found  his  road  at  last.  From  the  tracks,  he  could 
tell  that  the  sheriff's  automobile  had  lately  gone 
that  way — but  in  the  direction  of  Silver  City. 

When,  late  in  the  afternoon,  Shea  came  to 
Number  Sixteen,  it  was  deserted.  Upon  the  door 
of  the  shack  which  Mrs.  Crump  had  occupied 
was  pinned  a  brief  note.     It  read: 

Thady:  Set  rite  here  till  I  get  back.  We  are 
pinched  but  not  for  long.  My  gun  is  over  my  bunk. 
Set  tite.    Yours,  M.  Crump. 


THADY  SHEA  HAS  A  VISITOR        87 

Methodically,  Shea  went  to  the  other  shack  and 
began  to  wash  the  dried  blood  from  his  face, 
plastering  the  cut  on  his  brow. 

In  front  of  him  he  propped  the  note  and  studied 
it,  tried  to  read  between  the  lines.  It  had  been 
written,  he  thought  grimly,  as  a  forlorn  hope,  a 
desperate  chance  that  Thady  Shea  might  yet  save 
the  day.  Mrs.  Crump  had  not  been  aware  of  his 
culpability;  or,  if  she  had  been  aware  of  it,  she  had 
mercifully  indulged  in  no  recriminations. 

"Well,  I'm  here,"  said  Shea,  then  glanced 
quickly  around.  The  sound  of  his  voice  in  that 
solitude  was  startling. 

He  felt  in  no  mood  for  theatricalisms,  and  that 
morning  he  had  given  vent  to  none;  but  now, 
when  he  tried  to  express  himself  otherwise,  homely 
words  failed  him.  So  long  had  he  mantled  himself 
in  the  braggadocio  rhetoric  and  rounded  phrases 
of  The  Profession,  that  he  could  not  rid  himself 
of  the  bluff  which  had  bolstered  up  his  years  of 
miserable  failure.  Therefore,  he  held  his  peace 
and  tried  to  face  facts  squarely.  The  lesson  of 
primitive  silence  was  another  thing  that  he  learned 
in  this  strange  land. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  he  became  aware  that 
he  had  not  come  off  undamaged  that  morning. 
His  body  was  bruised,  his  face  and  head  were 
much  cut  about  by  hard  knuckles.  Also,  he  had 
not  eaten  since  the  previous  night,  and  hunger  was 
beginning  to  ride  him.     So  he  took  temporary 


88  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

possession  of  Mrs.  Crump's  shack  and  began  to 
prepare  a  meal. 

The  single  room  of  the  shack  was  fairly  large? 
since  it  had  to  serve  not  only  as  living  quarters 
for  Mrs.  Crump,  but  as  a  dining  room  for  all  hands. 
The  walls  were  rough  and  bare;  like  the  bunk  in 
the  corner,  they  were  formed  from  hewn  timbers, 
unchinked.  Gilbert  had  knocked  together  a  big 
mess  table;  the  seats  were  puncheon  stools;  in  the 
lean-to  adjoining  was  the  kitchen,  consisting  of  a 
small  sheet-iron  stove,  frying  pan,  and  a  kettle. 
And  yet,  about  this  primitive  bareness  Mrs. 
Crump  had  contrived  to  throw  a  fragrance  of 
femininity — a  rag  of  curtain  to  the  unglazed 
window,  a  faded  photograph  of  the  late  departed 
Crump,  a  battered  clock  decorated  by  a  scarlet 
cactus  flower,  an  ancient,  white,  mended  lace 
counterpane  that  covered  her  bunk.  And  upon 
the  table,  a  red  cloth  that  was  always  spick  and 
span.  Only  a  Mrs.  Crump  would  have  bothered  to 
bring  such  tag  ends  of  womanly  presence  into  this 
bare  and  rugged  spot  in  the  wilderness. 

Contemplating  these  things,  Thady  Shea  sighed; 
he  sighed  at  thought  of  Mehitabel  Crump,  doomed 
to  live  in  such  a  place,  destitute  of  all  things  her 
woman's  heart  must  have  craved.  He  ceased 
his  sighing,  suddenly  aware  that  his  bacon  was 
burned. 

Thady  Shea  knew  more  about  prospecting  for 
tungsten  than  he  did  about  cooking.       His  coffee 


THADY  SHEA  HAS  A  VISITOR        89 

was  miserable  and  wretched  in  spirit.  His  bacon 
was  brown  and  hard  as  wood.  Trying  to  get 
the  beans  warmed  throughout,  he  forgot  to  stir 
them  until  unpleasantly  reminded  of  his  remiss- 
ness. However,  by  the  time  he  had  to  light  the 
oil  lamp  in  order  to  see  his  food,  he  had  managed  to 
make  a  fair  meal,  in  quantity  if  not  in  quality. 

Afterward,  he  filled  his  pipe  and  sat  in  the 
doorway,  staring  upon  the  empurpled  masses  of 
the  mountains  that  were  piled  into  the  evening 
sky,  and  trying  to  conclude  what  he  must  do 
next. 

Mrs.  Crump's  scribbled  mention  of  her  revolver 
drew  a  whimsical  smile  to  his  lips.  He  could  not 
remember  having  fired  a  revolver  in  all  his  life, 
except  with  stage  blanks;  and  he  had  not  the 
slightest  intention  of  learning  the  art  at  this  time. 

He  was  slightly  surprised  at  his  own  lack  of 
feeling  in  regard  to  the  men  whom  he  had  hurt. 
His  one  uneasiness  was  lest  he  be  arrested — or, 
rather,  lest  someone  try  to  arrest  him.  He  did 
not  intend  to  leave  Number  Sixteen  until  it  was 
safe  to  do  so;  until  he  was  certain  the  place  was 
secure.  Therefore,  if  any  officers  appeared,  a 
fight  must  ensue.  Consequences  did  not  matter. 
Thady  Shea  was  quite  willing  to  face  any  ultimate 
dispensation  of  justice  so  long  as  he  kept  Number 
Sixteen  intact  for  Mrs.  Crump. 

"I  must  make  up  for  what  I've  done,"  here- 
fleeted.     "Then   I    can   go.     I    am    a    failure,    a 


90  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

sodden  wreck  upon  the  shoals  of  self.  Once  let 
my  reparation  be  established,  and  I  shall  go  forth 
into  the  world  again  to  seek  the  dregs  of  for- 
tune with  the  bent  diviner's  rod  of  Thespian 
mimicry." 

He  broke  short  off,  smiling  at  his  own  language. 

Shea  knew  inwardly  that  the  old  life  was 
gone  from  him  forever.  He  looked  up  at  the 
looming  mountains  and  felt  a  sudden  savage  joy 
in  himself;  a  joy  that  frightened  him,  so  primitive 
and  sweeping  was  it.  He  had  fought  with  men — 
had  conquered  them!  In  a  measure  he  was  done 
with  all  self-recrimination  for  his  weakness  and 
failure.  Those  were  things  of  the  past.  He  would 
not  be  weak  again !  Remorse  fell  away  from  him, 
and  peace  came. 

The  more  he  thought  about  arrest,  however,  the 
less  probable  it  seemed.  Ben  Aimes  had  given 
him  liquor,  which  was  in  defiance  of  law.  Shea 
already  knew  that  Mackintavers  et.  al.  were  not 
desirous  of  getting  into  court  unless  they  had 
an  ironclad  hold  upon  the  other  fellow;  this  was 
proven  by  Mrs.  Crump's  having  "shot  up" 
Dorales  with  impunity.  If  the  proceedings  of 
the  past  twenty-four  hours  were  given  a  public 
airing,  sundry  matters  might  require  explanations 
which  would  be  uncomfortable  for  Mackintavers. 

No,  upon  that  count  he  was  perhaps  safe 
enough;  but  there  would  be  other  counts.  They 
would  try  to  get  him — how?     No  matter.     Here 


THADY  SHEA  HAS  A  VISITOR        91 

was  another  reason  why  he  must  leave  Number 
Sixteen.  He  must  lose  himself  from  those  enemies, 
and  he  must  not  involve  Mrs.  Crump  in  the 
mix-up. 

Thus  deciding,  it  must  be  admitted  rather 
vaguely,  Thady  Shea  knocked  out  his  pipe  and 
sought  his  bunk.  He  was  not  so  ill  pleased  with 
himself,  after  all;  he  would  yet  save  Number 
Sixteen  for  Mrs.  Crump! 

The  following  morning,  for  the  first  time  in 
the  weeks  since  Mrs.  Crump  had  picked  him  up, 
Thady  Shea  relaxed  in  blissful  indolence.  He 
had  no  idea  of  how  the  vein  or  veins  of  strontianite 
should  be  worked.  There  was  little  to  do  about 
the  cabin.  So  he  climbed  the  long  hogback  and 
settled  down  to  smoke  and  watch  the  road  that 
wound  down  from  the  canon  toward  the  lava  beds, 
the  road  that  led  into  the  world. 

The  day  passed  idly  and  uneventful.  With  its 
passing,  Shea  felt  more  assured  that  his  theory 
was  correct;  that  he  was  not  to  be  arrested.  So 
convinced  of  this  was  he,  that  when,  toward 
sunset,  he  desired  a  dusty  streak  betokening  the 
approach  of  an  automobile,  he  made  certain  that 
Mrs.  Crump  was  returning. 

Thady  Shea  sat  where  he  was,  resolved  to  tell 
her  frankly  the  whole  story  of  his  disgrace,  then 
to  pause  for  no  argument,  but  to  go.  He  did  not 
so  misjudge  her  as  to  think  that  she  would  kick 
him  out;  still,  he  felt  that  he  had  been  false  to  her 


92  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

trust,  and  as  a  part  of  his  penance  he  must  go 
away,  until  he  might  be  able  to  come  back  a 
man  renewed.  A  most  indistinct  idea,  this,  but 
strongly  persistent.  Besides,  he  would  now  be  a 
marked  man  and  he  must  not  involve  her  in  his 
possible  danger. 

Somewhat  to  his  surprise  and  uneasiness,  as  the 
approaching  flivver  drew  up  the  canon  Shea  could 
not  recognize  the  gigantic  figure  of  Mehitabel 
Crump  aboard.  He  saw  only  three  men  in  the 
car,  and  he  knew  none  of  them.  Two  in  the  rear 
seat  were  evidently  natives;  from  the  dirty  and 
heavily  laden  appearance  of  the  car,  Shea  deduced 
that  these  men  had  come  upon  no  errand  of  the 
law.  They  seemed,  rather,  to  be  prospectors  or 
campers. 

Near  the  dust- white  flivver  the  car  came  to  a  halt. 
The  driver  alighted,  and  having  previously  made 
out  the  motionless  figure  of  Thady  Shea  on  the 
hillside  above,  waved  a  hand  and  started  upward. 
The  two  natives  climbed  out  and  began  to  un- 
strap bundles. 

As  the  visitor  came  near  to  him,  Shea  saw  that 
the  man  was  powerfully  built,  roughly  dressed,  and 
possessed  striking  gray  eyes  beneath  black  brows 
and  hair. 

"Howdy,  old-timer!"  greeted  the  new  arrival, 
pausing  with  outstretched  hand  and  a  frank  smile. 
"My  name's  Logan,  Tom  Logan.  We  got  lost 
over  in  the  lava  beds  and  struck  your  auto  tracks. 


THADY  SHEA  HAS  A  VISITOR        93 

We're  prospecting.  You  don't  mind  if  we  camp 
out  here  for  the  night?" 

Shea  rose  and  gravely  shook  hands. 

"Not  a  bit,  my  friends,"  he  said,  then  pointed  a 
hundred  yards  beyond  the  halted  car.  "You  see 
that  big  rock  down  the  valley?  Instruct  your 
comrades  to  make  camp  at  that  point  or  below  it." 

Logan  gave  him  a  puzzled  look.  That  word 
"valley"  was  strange  in  these  parts. 

"Eh,  partner?     You're  not  joking?" 

"Sir,  the  habiliments  of  jest  do  not  become  me," 
returned  Shea,  his  cavernous  eyes  piercingly  steady. 

"But  this  is  all  free  country,  isn't  it?" 

"It  is  not.  No  person  may  intrude  upon  this 
property,  sir.  You  are  welcome  to  water  and  food 
if  your  needs  be  such,  and  I  am  fain  of  your  com- 
pany. Kindly  instruct  your  knaves  to  move  as 
I  have  said." 

For  a  moment  Logan  met  the  gravely  firm  gaze 
of  Shea,  then  turned  and  lifted  his  hands  to  his 
mouth.  He  shouted  something  in  the  patois,  to 
which  the  two  natives  waved  assent.  They  turned 
their  car  and  took  it  to  the  rock  that  marked  the 
limit  of  Mrs.  Crump's  location  in  the  canon.  Logan 
began  to  roll  a  cigarette  with  deft  fingers. 

"Prospecting  hereabouts,  I  presume?"  he  in- 
quired.    "I  didn't  get  your  name." 

Shea  found  himself  warming  to  the  cultivated 
accents. 

"My  name,  sir,  is  Shea." 


94  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

"  W-whew ! "  A  long  whistle  broke  from  Logan, 
whose  thin  lips  parted  in  a  smile.  "  So  you're  the 
man!  I  heard  about  you  at  Zacaton  City  last 
night.  They  say  you  cleaned  up  Aimes  and  his 
crowd  for  giving  you  a  drink,  and  that  you  threat- 
ened to  do  worse  to  any  man  who  offered  you  one 
again!  Good  thing  I  didn't  do  it,  eh?  Glad  to 
meet  you,  Shea.  I'm  set  against  liquor  myself. 
You've  sure  become  famous  in  this  part  of  the 
country!" 

Thady  Shea  did  not  altogether  like  the  swarthy 
features  and  the  odd  contrast  between  steely  eyes 
and  coarse  black  hair,  but  he  did  like  applause. 
He  took  the  stranger  down  to  the  shacks  and  when 
Logan  set  about  cooking  an  excellent  dinner,  Shea 
was  delighted. 

Over  their  meal  the  two  men  conversed  at 
length,  chiefly  on  the  subject  of  mining.  Tom 
Logan  asked  no  questions  about  Number  Sixteen, 
but  he  formed  the  private  opinion  that  Thady 
Shea  was  earnest,  upright,  and  a  simpleton.  Two 
thirds  of  this  diagnosis  was  correct.  The  other 
third  was  destined  to  make  trouble  for  Tom 
Logan. 

At  last,  over  their  third  pipe,  Logan  yawned. 

"This  here  is  a  queer  country,"  he  observed. 
"You're  prospecting  for  gold  hereabouts,  of 
course.  But  d'you  know,  Shea,  the  old  pros- 
pecting business  is  changed?  Yes,  it  is.  Now- 
adays two  thirds  of  the  prospectors  turn  up  their 


THADY  SHEA  HAS  A  VISITOR        95 

noses  at  gold.  There  are  new  things  in  the  field, 
things  that  pay  better  than  gold. 

"Platinum,  for  instance;  or  tungsten  or  man- 
ganese. Take  my  own  case — I'm  one  of  a  dozen 
men  sent  out  by  a  big  New  York  chemical  house. 
I'm  after  strontium.  It  comes  in  two  forms, 
celestite  and  strontianite.  Celestite  brings  about 
twenty  dollars  a  ton  at  seaboard;  but  strontianite, 
when  converted  into  nitrates,  brings  five  hundred. 
The  average  old-time  prospector  hasn't  the  chem- 
ical knowledge  to  find  such  things  as  those." 

"Maybe,"  said  Shea,  reflectively.  "But  yonder 
hillock,  black  against  the  stars,  holds  in  its  deep 
heart  veins  of  mineral;  and  in  those  veins,  my 
friend,  there  runs  an  ichor  bearing  the  self -same 
name  as  that  you  seek." 

Logan  stared  over  this  for  a  moment.     Then: 

"By  jasper!  D'you  mean  that  you've  got 
strontianite  here?" 

"So  they  do  tell  me,"  averred  Shea,  modestly. 
He  added  with  frankness,  that  while  he  held  a 
third  interest  in  the  claim,  he  knew  little  of 
minerals. 

Logan  displayed  a  cordial  and  friendly  interest, 
and  asked  to  see  samples.  Shea  found  one  or  two 
and  set  them  forth,  telling  what  he  knew  of  the 
veins.  The  interest  of  the  visitor  grew  and 
waxed  enthusiastic.  Logan  examined  the  samples 
closely,  and  then  his  gray  eyes  suddenly  struck  up 
at  Shea. 


96  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

"Look  here!"  he  exclaimed,  eagerly.  "Would 
you,  provided  the  veins  and  so  forth  run  as  you 
describe  them,  accept  ten  thousand  dollars  cash  for 
your  interest  in  this  location?" 

To  Thady  Shea  this  offer  came  like  a  thunder- 
bolt from  a  clear  sky. 

"You  see,"  pursued  Logan,  "a  deposit  like  this 
would  answer  my  company's  purposes  admirably. 
We  might  never  find  another  like  it.  Ten  thou- 
sand is  not  a  large  offer,  but  it  would  be  a  year  or 
more  before  you'd  begin  to  pull  money  out  of  the 
property.  Say  yes,  and  I'll  examine  the  location 
to-morrow;  if  it's  what  you  say,  I'll  buy  your  right 
and  interest  in  the  property,  sign  the  papers,  and 
before  to-morrow  night  you'll  cash  my  check." 

Shea  rose  to  his  feet.  He  wanted  to  get  away 
from  the  influence  of  this  man's  personality.  He 
wanted  to  ask  counsel  from  the  friendly  stars. 

"I'll  think  it  over,"  he  said,  unsteadily.  "By 
myself " 

"Sure,"  Logan  agreed,  heartily.  "I'll  make  out 
the  papers,  eh?  We're  not  the  kind  of  men  to 
haggle  and  fight  each  other  for  price." 

Thady  Shea  stalked  forth  into  the  darkness,  his 
soul  a  riot  of  emotions.  "Ten  thousand  dollars!" 
he  murmured,  staring  up  at  the  blazing  stars. 
What  a  sum  to  turn  over  to  Mrs.  Crump  upon 
leaving!  With  that  sum,  Mrs.  Crump  could  at 
once  begin  development  work,  independently  of 
Logan's  company.     With  that  sum,  she  could  set 


THADY  SHEA  HAS  A  VISITOR        97 

trucks  at  work  hauling  ore  to  the  railroad.  With 
that  sum,  she  could  do — anything! 

It  never  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  keep  the 
money  for  himself;  it  never  occurred  to  him  that 
he  was  actually  one  third  owner  of  the  mine,  and 
could  sell  out  any  time.  Never  had  he  thought 
about  money  in  connection  with  Number  Sixteen; 
he  had  not  mentally  placed  his  partnership  with 
Mrs.  Crump  upon  any  financial  basis.  It  was 
because  of  this  very  simplicity  of  thought  that  Mrs. 
Crump  had  felt  drawn  to  him.  It  was  because  of 
this,  too,  that  she  had  instructed  Coravel  Tio  to 
record  the  entire  property  in  the  name  of  Thady 
Shea,  in  order  to  camouflage  her  ownership  from 
the  many  eyes  of  Sandy  Mackintavers.  But  this 
Shea  did  not  know. 

Thady  Shea  came  to  the  big  gray  bowlder  that 
marked  the  limit  of  the  canon  location.  He  stood 
against  it,  gazing  upward  at  the  stars,  lost  in  his 
dream.  The  rocky  mass  shut  off  from  him  the 
flickering  fire,  built  by  Logan's  native  companions. 
Behind,  the  light  in  the  shack  was  as  another  star. 
He  was  alone.  He  was  alone,  and  in  the  valley  of 
decision. 

Ten  thousand  dollars — for  Mrs.  Crump!  Never 
had  Thady  Shea  visioned  so  much  money  all  in  one 
lump.     Nor  did  he  now  vision  it  as  his  own. 

Shea  did  not  know  that  he  was  technically  and 
legally  the  owner  of  Number  Sixteen.  But  the 
fact   was   on   record,   and   Tom   Logan   knew  it 


98  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

perfectly  well.  Back  in  the  shack,  under  the  oil 
lamp,  Logan  was  already  chuckling  over  the 
cleverly  drawn  papers  which  would  make  him  the 
sole  owner  of  Number  Sixteen — for  the  com- 
paratively unimportant  sum  of  ten  thousand 
dollars!  He  had  persuaded  Sandy  Mackintavers 
to  gamble  that  sum,  to  play  it  as  a  table  stake. 


CHAPTER  Vm 

DORALES   GOES   TO   TOWN 

STANDING  by  that  big  bowlder,  Shea 
suddenly  awakened  from  his  dream.  Out 
of  the  night  on  the  other  side  of  the 
bowlder,  where  the  dim  fire  of  the  two  natives  had 
nickered  into  red  embers,  floated  a  slow,  musical 
laugh  and  a  few  words.  The  patois  was  totally 
unknown  to  Shea.  One  of  those  words,  however, 
drifted  across  the  darkness  and  smote  upon  his 
brain  with  jarring  force.  The  laugh,  too,  was  not 
honest;  it  was  a  silky  laugh,  a  laugh  pregnant  with 
sly  meanings  and  furtive  humours.  The  word  was 
"Dorales." 

Shea  trembled.  Dorales!  Why  did  these  na- 
tives speak  of  Dorales  in  this  way? 

Now  it  came  into  his  mind  how  Tom  Logan  had 
known  all  about  him;  how  Logan  had  been  in 
Zacaton  City  the  previous  night;  how  Logan  had 
gotten  lost  in  the  lava  beds — even  to  Shea's 
innocence  a  very  improbable  thing.  Prospectors 
for  limestone  formations  do  not  enter  the  lava 
beds. 

Latent  suspicion  crystallized  within  Shea's 
brain.     Tom    Logan    was    no    other    than    Abel 

99 


100  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

Dorales;  he  was  certain  of  it,  he  knew  it  ab- 
solutely. His  eyes  were  opened,  and  he  sought 
for  no  proof. 

Dorales  had  intended  to  come  here,  thinking  the 
place  deserted.  In  Zacaton  City  he  had  learned 
that  Thady  Shea  was  probably  at  Number  Sixteen. 
He  had  come  with  cunning  intent,  he  had  come 
with  cunning  words  and  a  false  tongue.  The  offer 
of  ten  thousand  dollars  might  or  might  not  be 
genuine;  no  matter! 

To  the  terribly  childlike  Shea  it  seemed  that 
Providence  had  sent  that  low  word  and  laugh 
through  the  night  to  his  ears,  to  save  him  from 
temptation.  At  thought  of  how,  a  few  minutes 
ago,  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  swallowing  the 
gilded  lure  of  Dorales,  he  shivered  and  wiped 
sweat  from  his  brow. 

He  turned  about  and  started  toward  the  shacks. 

Beside  the  table  where  the  oil  lamp  burned, 
Dorales  was  sitting  and  writing.  He  filled  out  a 
previously  prepared  paper  which  would  transfer 
to  the  Empire  State  Chemical  Company,  for  the 
sum  of  ten  thousand  dollars,  all  the  rights,  holdings, 
and  so  forth,  of  Thaddeus  Shea  in  the  property 
underfoot.  The  company  in  question  consisted 
of  Sandy  Mackintavers. 

This  paper  ready  for  signatures  and  witnessing, 
Dorales  produced  a  blank  check  which  bore  the 
almost  illegible  but  widely  known  signature  of  A. 
Mackintavers.     This   Dorales   filled   out   in   the 


DORALES  GOES  TO  TOWN         101 

name  of  Thaddeus  Shea,  and  in  the  amount  of  ten 
thousand  dollars.  At  this  instant  he  heard  a 
hoarse   voice   whisper   his  name — "Dorales!" 

"Well?"  He  glanced  up  sharply,  taken  by 
surprise. 

Into  the  lighted  doorway  stepped  Thady  Shea, 
his  cavernous  eyes  blazing.  For  an  instant 
Dorales  was  too  completely  astounded  to  move — 
astounded  by  the  realization  of  how  he  had  just 
betrayed  himself,  astounded  by  the  fact  that  this 
gaunt  fellow  was  no  simpleton  after  all! 

That  instant  of  indecision  was  fatal.  Dorales 
pushed  back  his  chair  and  came  to  his  feet,  one 
hand  sliding  to  his  coat  pocket.  Too  late!  The 
big  fingers  of  Thady  Shea  gripped  down  on  his 
wrist,  and  Shea's  right  hand  took  him  by  ,'the 
left  shoulder,  and  he  was  staring  into  the  blaz- 
ing black  eyes  of  the  man  he  had  thought  to 
cheat. 

"I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  friend  Dorales !"  A 
grim  smile  sat  on  Shea's  wide  lips.  "The  airy 
tongues  that  syllable  men's  names  have  borne  to 
me  your  rightful  cognomen." 

Dorales  writhed  under  that  iron  grip.  His  left 
hand  drove  up  to  Shea's  face,  landed  hard.  From 
his  lips  broke  a  shout  for  aid. 

Under  the  blow,  Shea  staggered;  he  knew 
nothing  of  fighting.  He  did  know,  however,  that 
the  shout  of  Dorales  would  bring  the  two  Mexicans, 
and  the  knowledge  fired  him.     He  merely  threw 


102  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

himself  bodily  and  blindly  at  Dorales  and  carried 
the  latter  to  the  floor. 

Luck  was  kind.  Dorales,  trying  not  to  fall 
underneath,  writhed  aside;  the  impetus  of  Shea's 
rush,  or  rather  fall,  threw  Abel  Dorales  headlong 
against  the  wall  and  knocked  him  senseless. 

After  a  moment  Shea  realized  that  Dorales  was 
knocked  out,  relaxed  his  iron  grip,  and  rose.  His 
first  thought  was  to  turn  out  the  lamp.  Then, 
taking  from  the  corner  the  axe  helve,  Shea  passed 
outside  the  shack.  He  discerned  two  figures  run- 
ning toward  him  in  the  starlight,  and  he  strode  at 
them. 

The  two  natives  were  not  at  all  sure  of  what  had 
been  going  on.  They  called  to  Shea,  who  made  no 
answer  but  came  steadily  at  them.  Hesitant, 
they  awaited  his  approach,  again  addressing  him  in 
English.  For  response,  Shea  heaved  up  the  axe 
helve  and  struck  the  nearer  man  senseless. 

Here  was  answer  enough.  The  second  man 
whipped  up  a  ready  revolver  and  fired  hastily;  too 
hastily,  for  the  bullet  only  whipped  Shea's  lean 
cheek  and  passed  over  the  hogback.  An  instant 
later  the  axe  helve  broke  the  man's  arm. 

"Be  quiet!"  commanded  Shea;  then  considered 
that  the  groaning  wretch  could  not  well  obey  such 
an  order  with  a  smashed  arm.  "Go  down  and 
climb  into  your  automobile.     Wait  there/* 

"Si,  sefior."  The  native  turned  and  went  into 
the  night,  groaning. 


DORALES  GOES  TO  TOWN  103 

Stooping,  Shea  picked  up  the  body  of  the 
second  man,  the  one  whom  he  had  stricken  sense- 
less. He  heaved  it  up  over  his  shoulder,  and 
returned  to  the  shack.  There  he  lighted  a 
match,  got  the  lamp  burning  again,  and  clumsily 
tied  Abel  Dorales  hand  and  foot.  He  rightly  con- 
sidered that  the  fight  was  taken  out  of  the  two 
natives. 

Dorales  evinced  no  symptoms  of  recovery. 
Shea  threw  some  water  over  the  face  of  his  native 
prisoner,  and  presently  the  man  sat  up  and  stared 
around.  At  sight  of  Shea's  figure,  he  shrank  back 
and  crossed  himself. 

"I'll  not  hurt  you,"  said  Shea.  "Where's 
Mackintavers?" 

"At  the  ranch,  senor,"  whimpered  the  wide- 
eyed  native. 

"Is  he  coming  here?" 

"No,  senor,  not  until  Senor  Dorales  sends  for 
him." 

"That  will  not  be  for  some  time."  And  Shea 
smiled.     "Do  you  know  where  Mrs.  Crump  is?" 

"I  heard  Senor  Dorales  say  that  she  would  not 
get  there  until  to-morrow  night,  senor." 

This  explained  to  Shea  why  Dorales  had  planned 
on  cleaning  up  the  sale  so  hastily.  It  also  set  his 
mind  at  rest  about  Mackintavers,  whose  arrival  he 
had  feared. 

There  was  no  doubt  whatever  that  Dorales  had 
figured  things  closely  and  accurately.     Therefore, 


104  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

Mrs.  Crump  would  return  upon  the  following  after- 
noon or  evening,  and  in  the  meantime  no  other 
attempt  would  be  made  upon  the  property. 

"With  this  thought  in  mind,  Thady  Shea  set 
about  making  his  departure,  for  he  intended  to  be 
gone  when  Mrs.  Crump  arrived  home.  If  Dorales 
were  safely  out  of  the  way  for  a  day  or  two,  there 
would  be  no  danger  in  leaving  the  mine  deserted; 
and  Shea  was  already  possessed  of  a  scheme  for 
putting  Dorales  in  cold  storage. 

Prompt  to  act  upon  the  swift  impulse  in  his 
mind,  Shea  turned  over  the  cleverly  drawn  paper 
winch  Dorales  had  been  studying,  and  upon  its 
back  wrote  a  note  to  Mrs.  Crump.  The  check 
caught  his  eye,  and  he  pulled  it  toward  him;  smil- 
ing sardonically,  he  read  and  reread  that  magic 
slip  of  paper  which  stood  for  ten  thousand  dollars. 

He  picked  up  the  check  and  held  it  for  a  moment 
over  the  oil  lamp — then  he  quickly  jerked  it 
back. 

"No,  I'll  leave  it,"  he  muttered.  "She'll  know 
I'm  honest,  perchance!  It  will  be  a  tongue  most 
eloquent." 

That  sardonic  smile  still  curving  his  wide  lips, 
he  turned  over  the  check  and  carefully  indorsed 
it;  across  the  back  of  the  paper  he  wrote  the  same 
name  which  he  had  signed  to  the  note.  The 
whimsical  thought  came  to  him  that,  if  he 
presented  this  paper  at  a  bank,  he  would  get  ten 
thousand   dollars   for   Mrs.    Crump;   he   had   no 


DORALES  GOES  TO  TOWN         105 

intention  of  so  presenting  it,  however — had  he  not 
refused  the  proffered  negotiations?  He  indorsed 
that  check  merely  as  a  mute  message  to  Mrs. 
Crump.  It  quite  escaped  him  that,  by  so  indors- 
ing it,  he  had  made  it  good. 

He  picked  up  the  epistle  which  he  had  written, 
and  read  it  over,  frowning: 

Madam  :  If  you  do  not  already  know  of  my  unhappy 
share  in  your  misfortunes,  you  may  be  easily  apprised 
of  it  from  other  lips.  Farewell!  I  take  my  leave  to 
seek  an  errant  soul  upon  the  roads,  and  I  shall  not  re- 
turn until  some  testing  has  surfeited  my  most  uneasy 
spirit. 

Thaddeus  R.  Shea. 

He  folded  up  the  note,  and  nodded  to  himself. 

"  'Tis  not  so  clear  as  crystal,  yet  'twill  serve,"  he 
murmured. 

Whether  Mrs.  Crump  would  fully  understand 
the  reasons  for  his  departure  was  immaterial,  since 
Shea  himself  did  not  fully  understand  them;  at 
least,  he  had  not  figured  them  into  concrete  bases. 
His  idea  of  doing  penance,  of  seeking  either  ulti- 
mate strength  or  ultimate  failure  again  in  the 
world,  was  vague.  His  secondary  motive,  that  of 
not  drawing  his  benefactress  into  his  own  danger 
from  the  Mackintavers  forces,  was  equally  vague, 
since  Mrs.  Crump  was  far  more  imperilled  and  far 
better  equipped  to  face  such  peril  than  he. 

However,    it    is    these    vague    impulses    which 


106  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

often  lead  men  upon  the  trail  of  fate,  and  thus  it 
proved  with  Thady  Shea. 

He  left  the  note  upon  the  table,  and  with  it  the 
indorsed  check  and  legally  phrased  paper,  knowing 
that  these  would  in  some  measure  make  matters 
clear  to  Mrs.  Crump.  Then  he  procured  that 
lady's  whiskey  and  poured  a  generous  portion  into 
a  tin  cup.  This  time,  he  deliberately  smelled  of 
it,  and  smiled  grimly.  Mrs.  Crump  kept  on  hand 
a  vial  of  laudanum  for  the  sake  of  recurrent  tooth- 
ache, and  from  this  vial  he  dropped  a  little  of  the 
drug  into  the  whiskey. 

"Friend  Dorales  will  sleep  to-night,  methinks," 
he  said  to  the  staring  native  captive.  "  Lift  up  his 
head!" 

The  native  picked  up  the  head  and  shoulders  of 
the  still  senseless  Dorales.  Forcing  open  the 
thin,  strong  lips,  Shea  poured  his  mixture  into  the 
man's  mouth.  Dorales  choked,  but  swallowed  it 
and  began  to  revive. 

Shea  packed  his  few  belongings,  regretfully  left 
the  historic  axe  helve  for  Mrs.  Crump,  then  mo- 
tioned his  prisoner  to  help  him  lift  Dorales.  The 
latter  was  now  swearing  luridly  but  feebly.  To- 
gether they  carried  him  out  into  the  darkness. 

Ten  minutes  later  Dorales  was  snoring  in  the 
tonneau  of  Mackintavers*  flivver,  beside  the 
injured  native.  By  the  light  of  the  lamps,  the 
uninjured  captive  was  working  under  the  direc- 
tions of  Shea,  who  had  realized  that  upon  reaching 


DORALES  GOES  TO  TOWN  107 

home  Mrs.  Crump  would  be  unable  to  use  her  own 
car  without  tires. 

So  Shea  stripped  the  enemy  car,  left  the  tires 
beside  the  dust-white  flivver,  and  then  climbed 
into  his  captured  vehicle.  Having  disarmed  his 
conquered  foemen,  he  had  nothing  to  fear  from 
them,  and  headed  his  bumpy  equipage  toward  Xo 
Agua.  When  the  canon  road  warned  him  that  he 
was  close  to  that  lone  hovel  of  desolation,  he 
stopped  the  car  and  took  from  his  pocket  Mrs. 
Crump's  flask  into  which  he  had  emptied  the 
laudanum  vial.  He  turned  to  the  two  natives,  one 
of  whom  was  groaning  and  shivering,  the  other 
merely  shivering. 

"Friends,"  he  said,  sonorously,  "drink — or  take 
the  consequences." 

Knowing  from  the  example  of  Abel  Dorales  that 
the  flask  contained  nothing  worse  than  sleep, 
mingled  with  liquor,  the  two  natives  drank  the 
contents  with  avidity.  Shea  tossed  away  the 
empty  flask,  envy  in  his  eye;  he  wanted  a  drink 
very  badly — but  he  did  not  want  one  badly 
enough  to  take  it. 

Passing  the  Xo  Agua  store  with  a  rattle  and 
clatter,  Shea  considered  swiftly.  If  he  went  south 
to  Silver  City  he  might  meet  Mrs.  Crump,  and  he 
had  no  desire  to  meet  her  at  present.  If  he  went 
west,  he  would  get  into  Arizona.  All  he  knew 
about  Arizona  was  founded  upon  the  drama  of  that 
name;  the  prospect  of  being  scalped  by  Apaches  or 


108  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

otherwise  mutilated  did  not  invite  his  soul  par- 
ticularly. 

So  he  turned  east  to  Zacaton  City,  confident  that 
he  could  pass  through  that  nest  of  enemies  before 
dawn,  and  with  a  vague  scheme  already  in  his 
mind.  All  he  wanted  was  to  get  clear  away,  and 
he  mentally  blessed  that  vial  of  laudanum. 

It  was  shortly  before  dawn  when  the  snoring 
mechanic  in  Aimes'  garage  was  awakened  by  a  tall, 
gaunt  stranger. 

"Friend,"  said  Shea  to  the  yawning  mechanic, 
"in  this  my  vehicle  behold  three  villains,  scoun- 
drels of  the  deepest  dye!  But  yesternight  they 
tried  to  jump  my  claim,  wherefore  I  laid  them  by 
the  heels,  and  charge  you,  upon  your  honest 
visage,  guard  them  well  until  the  sheriff  shall 
appear  to  claim  them." 

After  some  repetition  the  astonished  mechanic 
gathered  that  this  gaunt  stranger  had  brought  in 
three  claim  jumpers  to  be  held  until  the  sheriff  ar- 
rived. Not  having  participated  in  the  events  of 
Sunday  morning,  the  mechanic  was  blissfully 
ignorant  of  Shea's  identity,  and  Thady  had  no 
intention  of  disclosing  it.  Despite  protest,  Shea 
left  the  crippled  flivver  in  the  garage,  the 
three  snoring  occupants  being  obviously  safe  for 
another  twenty -four  hours.  Having  been  care- 
fully dirtied  and  disguised  by  Dorales  himself,  the 
flivver  was  not  recognized  immediately  as  that  of 
Sandy  Mackintavers. 


DORALES  GOES  TO  TOWN         109 

These  things  successfully  accomplished,  Thady 
Shea  faded  into  the  gray  dawn.  For  lack  of  better 
direction,  he  took  the  rough  and  rugged  road  that 
led  off  to  Datil  and  the  transcontinental  highway 
into  Magdalena.  He  had  no  illusions  about 
arrest  not  being  probable  in  this  case,  and  he 
desired  to  avoid  arrest. 

Zacaton  City  was  ere  long  in  a  roar  of  half- 
wrathful  enjoyment.  The  three  "claim  jumpers," 
who  slept  like  the  dead  and  refused  to  be  awakened, 
were  soon  known  as  Abel  Dorales,  tied  hand  and 
foot,  and  two  natives  from  the  Mackintavers 
ranch,  one  having  a  broken  arm.  The  garage 
mechanic's  description  of  Thady  Shea  was  accurate 
and  recognizable.  Details  were  lacking  and  could 
not  be  obtained  until  the  drugged  men  awakened — 
but  details  were  largely  unnecessary. 

Ben  Aimes  did  not  telephone  to  Mackintavers 
at  the  ranch;  at  the  time,  this  seemed  a  rather 
superfluous  detail.  The  news  bearer  would  have 
a  thankless  and  possibly  dangerous  job,  so  Ben 
Aimes  left  Mackintavers  alone,  and  left  Dorales  to 
tell  the  sorry  tale  in  person.  However,  Aimes 
swore  out  warrants  charging  battery  and  other 
things,  and  sent  automobiles  forth  to  bring  in 
Thady  Shea. 

Him  they  did  not  find;  but  they  went  as  far  as 
Magdalena,  spreading  the  story  as  they  progressed. 
Within  three  days,  this  immediate  section  of  the 
state  was   in  a  roar  of  laughter;  Dorales  had  a 


110  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

reputation  as  "the  worst  man  to  monkey  with"  in 
existence.  Added  to  the  joke  was  the  story  of 
Thady  Shea  and  the  axe  helve,  which  travelled  fast 
and  far.  Neither  story  reached  the  Mackintavers 
ranch  fast  enough,  however. 

On  the  afternoon  following  Thady  Shea's  de- 
sertion of  Number  Sixteen  Mrs.  Crump  arrived 
there  in  a  hired  car  from  Silver  City.  She  came 
alone;  Gilbert  and  Lewis  were  in  jail  awaiting 
bail,  and  she  came  only  to  make  sure  that  Number 
Sixteen  had  escaped  the  ravishers. 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Crump  knew  all  about  what 
had  happened  to  Thady  Shea  in  Zacaton  City,  and 
how  the  disaster  had  come  upon  her,  but  she  had 
made  no  comments.  At  the  shack,  she  found  the 
papers  which  Thady  Shea  had  left.  She  read  his 
note,  and  muttered  something  about  "damned 
fool."  Then  she  took  the  check  which  he  had 
indorsed,  returned  to  her  hired  car,  and  before 
midnight  was  back  in  Silver  City. 

At  nine  the  next  morning  the  Silver  City  bank 
telephoned  Sandy  Mackintavers  over  long  dis- 
tance regarding  a  check  for  ten  thousand  dollars 
issued  to  one  Thady  Shea,  and  properly  indorsed, 
which  had  been  presented  for  payment  by  Mrs. 
Crump.  Promptly  and  delightedly  Mackintavers 
gave  it  his  O.  K.  Quite  naturally,  he  considered 
that  Abel  Dorales  had  carried  his  mission  to 
success,  and  that  Number  Sixteen  now  belonged  to 
the  Empire  State  Chemical  Company. 


DOR  ALES  GOES  TO  TOWN  111 

But  that  evening,  when  Dorales  arrived  with 
new  tires  on  the  flivver,  Mackintavers  learned 
what  had  really  taken  place.  Then  he  telephoned 
to  Silver  City  in  all  haste,  only  to  find  that  he  was 
out  ten  thousand  big  round  dollars.  He  had 
gambled,  and  he  had  lost  his  stake. 

Dorales  spent  a  most  unpleasant  evening. 
Despite  everything,  even  the  monetary  loss,  which 
rankled  to  the  very  bottom  of  his  soul,  Mackin- 
tavers had  a  deep  grain  of  humour.  This  was  the 
first  time  he  had  ever  known  Abel  Dorales  to  be 
put  absolutely  down  and  out;  he  gave  his  humour 
full  vent  until  Dorales,  who  had  no  humour  what- 
ever, writhed  under  the  lash. 

"It's  your  loss  most  of  all,"  growled  Dorales, 
white  lipped  and  venomous. 

"Aiblins,  yes."  Mackintavers  fell  grave. 
"We'll  leave  Mrs.  Crump  alone  for  the  present; 
never  fear,  I'll  get  that  money  back,  with  interest! 
I've  a  scheme  in  the  back  of  my  head  that  will  work 
on  her  a  bit  later.  Are  ye  going  to  hide  out  till  the 
laughing's  done  with?" 

"Hide— hell!"  snarled  Dorales,  viciously.  "The 

*first  man  that  laughs  to  my  face,  except  you,  gets 

something  to  remember.     And,"  he  added,  slowly, 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  excepting  you,  Sandy." 

"There,  there,  cannot  ye  take  a  joke? "returned 
Mackintavers,  hastily.  "I've  suffered  the  most, 
but  leave  Mrs.  Crump  be  for  the  present.  I  want 
to  get  the  matter  o'  those  stone  idols  settled,  and 


112  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

under  cover  o'  the  noise  it  will  make  when  I  become 
a  scientist,  then  we'll  take  over  this  strontianite 
mine. 

"I  want  ye  to  go  up  to  Santa  Fe,  and  get  a  big 
sack  o'  silver  dollars.  I've  me  eye  on  two  or 
three  o'  them  Cochito  redskins  and  I  think  ye  can 
bribe 'em.     If " 

"What  about  this  man  Shea?"  snapped  Dorales. 
"I'm  going  to  get  him  if  it  takes  me  ten  years! 
I'm  going  to  write  my  name  in  his  hide  with  a 
knife!" 

"Ye  shall;  he'll  be  here  when  ye  get  back  from 
Sante  Fe,"  soothed  Mackintavers.  "He  can't 
hide  out  long,  Abel.     I'll  have  him  held  for  ye." 

"You'd  better,"  said  the  other,  sourly.  "I 
don't  like  wasting  time  on  these  idols,  anyway.  I 
never  knew  any  good  to  come  of  bothering  the 
Indian  gods,  Sandy." 

Mackintavers  only  laughed,  although  not  with- 
out a  frown  to  follow  the  laugh.  He  was  wonder- 
ing if  the  presence  of  those  gods  in  his  house  had 
brought  him  the  loss  of  ten  thousand  dollars.  He 
was  the  last  man  on  earth  to  let  superstition  alter 
his  plans;  yet  he  was  Scottish,  and  he  could  not 
help  wondering — just  a  little. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   WICKER   DEMIJOHN 

AS  HAS  been  related,  Thady  Shea  some- 
what vaguely  set  out  upon  the  way  to 
^  Magdalena,  after  disposing  of  his  shoeless 
flivver   and   its   snoring   load. 

The  dawn  came  up  and  found  him  plodding  on- 
ward. An  hour  later  he  was  hailed  from  the  road- 
side by  a  venerable  ancient  having  one  very  blue 
eye  and  a  long  white  beard.  This  worthy  proved 
to  be  a  tramp  printer,  who  intended  to  get  work  at 
Magdalena  when  his  money  gave  out. 

For  the  present,  however,  the  ancient  had  no 
intention  of  working;  so  he  proposed  a  road 
partnership,  stating  that  he  liked  Shea's  looks. 
Thady  Shea  wanted  to  sleep,  which  "Dad" 
Griffith,  as  the  ancient  was  named,  deemed  a 
highly  laudable  ambition. 

Accordingly,  a  little  wThile  afterward,  Shea 
found  himself  snugly  ensconced  in  a  camp  well 
back  from  the  road  and  well  hidden  in  a  clump  of 
trees.  Before  sleeping,  he  explored  his  pockets  and 
found  some  money,  left  from  the  sum  given  him 
by  Mrs.  Crump  for  his  Zacaton  City  purchases. 

"Take  it,  friend,"  he  said,  drowsily,  thrusting  the 
us 


114  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

money  upon  the  ancient.  "Take  it,  and  add  it  to 
thy  scanty  store,  that  so  we  may  have  where- 
withal to  live." 

"You  bet  I  will,  partner,"  and  Dad  Griffith 
seized  it.  "It'll  keep  us  quite  a  spell,  with  what 
I  got.  No  sense  workin',  I  says,  when  they's  no 
need.  I  figger  on  gettin'  a  job  to  Magdalena  when 
I  got  to  work.  I  had  a  job  there  two  year  ago. 
These  here  goshly-gorful  linotypes  is  puttin' 
honest  printers  out  o'  business.  Why,  I  seen  th' 
day " 

In  the  midst  of  a  dissertation  upon  the  elegancies 
of  hand-set  type  and  the  blasted  frightfulness  of 
an  existence  surrounded  by  linotype  machines, 
Shea  stretched  out  and  fell  asleep.  The  ancient 
droned  along,  regardless.  When  Shea  wakened 
toward  sunset,  old  Griffith  was  still  discoursing 
upon  the  same  topic. 

Over  a  tiny  smokeless  fire  Griffith  conjured 
biscuits,  coffee,  and  beans,  and  the  two  men  ate. 
Thady  Shea  probed  his  companion's  mind  for 
future  plans,  and  found  only  a  vague  emptiness; 
the  ancient  liked  to  spend  each  night  in  a  different 
spot,  that  was  all.  Thady  Shea  proposed,  with 
pursuit  in  mind,  that  it  might  be  better  to  camp 
during  the  day  and  to  tramp  at  night. 

At  this  suggestion  the  ancient  winked  his  one 
intensely  blue  eye.  He  winked  with  the  uncanny 
gusto  of  an  old  man,  with  the  horrible  craftiness 
of  an  old  man.     His  one  eye  winked,  and  the 


THE  WICKER  DEMIJOHN  115 

ancient  was  transformed.  He  became  an  em- 
blem of  doddering  truancy,  a  living  symbol  of  the 
soul  which  desires  ever  to  flee  responsibilities  and 
to  shirk  the  onus  of  labour  inherited  from  Father 
Adam. 

"Suits  me,  pardner.  I  used  to  do  that  over  in 
Missouri,  one  time,  'count  of  a  hawg  bein'  missed 
from  a  pen.  Anyhow,  these  nights  is  too  cold 
to  sleep  'thout  blankets,  which  mine  ain't  extra 
good. 

"Still,  a  spry  young  feller  like  you,  Thady, 
ought  to  have  more  get  up  an'  get  to  him  than  tp  be 
gettin'  in  a  mess  o'  trouble.  Take  a  goshly-gorful 
old  ranger  like  me,  and  it's  all  right;  I'm  a  sinful 
man,  an'  proud  of  it.  But  you,  now — you'd  ought 
to  be  aimin' for  something.  I  know,  I  do!  That's 
the  trouble  with  folks;  ain't  got  no  aim  ahead. 
But  no  use  talkin'.  You  got  your  reasons,  I 
reckon." 

Thady  Shea  sat  and  stared  into  the  fire.  He 
did  not  take  the  hint  to  retail  his  story.  He  was 
suddenly  thinking. 

Memory  worked  within  him.  "It  ain't  lack  of 
ambition  that  makes  folks  mis'able  and  unsatisfied; 
it's  lack  o'  purpose!"  Mrs.  Crump  had  said  those 
words,  and  they  had  been  burned  into  Shea's 
brain.  Purpose,  indeed!  What  purpose  now  lay 
ahead,  except  the  vague  desire  to  rehabilitate 
himself?  To  become  a  vagrant  with  this  tramp 
printer — why,  this  would  be  to  shake  off  all  the 


116  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

shackles  of  purpose!  Yet,  what  else  was  there  to 
do?  What  could  be  done,  except  to  evade  the 
law  which  by  this  time  must  be  seeking  him? 

His  head  drooped.  Was  some  higher  Power 
extending  its  hand  against  him,  closing  every 
avenue  of  escape  from  his  old  drifting  existence, 
forcing  him  back  into  vagrancy?  His  eyes 
widened  under  the  thought.  The  thought  stag- 
gered him.  Then,  slowly,  his  mouth  tightened, 
his  wide  lips  drew  firmly  clenched.  A  flush  of 
fever  darkened  Ins  high  cheekbones. 

Very  well;  he  would  go  on  fighting!  For  once 
the  superstitious  nature  of  the  man  was  borne 
down  by  his  inward  anger,  was  borne  down  by  the 
impotent  feeling  that  he  was  a  pawn  in  Destiny's 
game;  he  rebelled  against  it.  He  rebelled  against 
everything. 

"By  heaven,  I'll  make  a  purpose!"  he  mentally 
vowed.  "I'll  look  for  one — find  one — fight  for 
one!" 

Even  as  the  words  rose  in  him,  he  choked  down 
a  vague  feeling  that  they  were  false  and  erroneous, 
a  feeling  that  this  purpose  could  not  be  sought,  but 
must  seek  him  out,  must  come  to  him  of  itself. 
Yet  he  choked  down  the  feeling,  repulsed  it. 
He  reiterated  his  mental  vow,  fiercely  insistent 
upon  it. 

All  this  while  the  ancient  had  been  droning 
something  about  the  beauties  of  the  old  flat-bed 
presses,    and    the    goshly-gorfulness    of    machine 


THE  WICKER  DEMIJOHN  117 

printing.  Now  Shea  became  aware  of  a  more 
personal  note  in  the  droning. 

"If  I  was  you,"  and  the  ancient  chuckled  in  his 
dirty  white  beard,  transfixing  Thady  Shea  with  his 
one  bright-blue  eye,  "if  I  was  you,  I'd  grow 
whiskers ! 

"They's  places  and  places  I  can't  never  go  no 
more  without  these  here  whiskers.  Yes,  they  is! 
I'm  a  sinful  man  an'  proud  of  it;  mebbe  ye  think 
I'm  old,  but  I  can  show  you  young  fellers  a  thing 
or  two,  he,  he!  Grow  whiskers,  Thady.  You  can 
take  'em  with  ye  to  go  a-sinning,  and  then  go 
back  over  the  same  trail  without  'em,  and  nobody 
the  wiser!" 

Shea's  gorge  rose.  He  suddenly  saw  Dad 
Griffith  as  the  latter  really  was — a  foul  old  man,  a 
worthless  wastrel  of  humanity,  seemingly  dead  to 
all  higher  things.  He  grew  afraid  for  himself;  he 
was  vaguely  alarmed,  as  though  he  had  touched 
some  slimy,  crawling  thing  in  the  darkness.  He 
came  to  his  feet  with  an  impellent  desire  to  crush 
this  unholy  man  like  a  toad,  to  flee  into  the  night, 
to  he  under  the  stars  and  seek  clearance  for  his 
troubles.  However,  he  did  none  of  these  things. 
Shea  reached  for  his  pipe,  filled  it,  lighted  it  with 
an  ember  from  the  fire.  Here  he  got  a  new 
sensation — the  tang  and  sweetness  of  an  ember- 
lighted  pipe! 

"Let's  be  moving,"  said  Thady  Shea,  crisply. 
"It's  a  fine  night." 


118  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

An  hour  later  they  were  plodding  along,  sharing 
the  load  of  provisions.  Thady  Shea  was  quite 
aware  that  something  was  wrong  with  him  in  the 
body,  but  he  felt  no  definite  pain.  It  was  an 
errant  *  'something' '  which  he  could  not  place, 
and  which  he  was  too  uplifted  in  spirit  to  heed. 

The  night  wore  on.  With  every  step,  Thady 
Shea  was  learning  from  the  lore  of  Dad  Griffith. 
He  was  learning  the  wordly  wise  lore  of  the  roads — 
to  walk  with  straight  feet,  to  carry  his  body  up- 
hill on  bended  knees,  to  take  the  high  side  of  a 
wet  trail.  The  ancient  talked  continually,  eter- 
nally. The  ancient  seemed  to  like  Thady  Shea 
immensely. 

Some  time  after  midnight  they  left  the  road 
by  a  faint  and  unknown  trail,  followed  it  until 
they  were  weary,  and  then  camped.  Griffith  had 
a  pair  of  tattered  blankets.  Thady  Shea  refused 
to  share  them;  he  slept  in  his  clothes.  When  he 
wakened  at  sunrise  his  head  was  heavy  with  fever. 
A  mile  distant  the  ancient  descried  a  creek,  and 
they  moved  over  to  it  for  the  day.  Thady  Shea 
felt  peculiar,  and  detailed  his  symptoms,  where- 
upon the  ancient  produced  a  tattered  little  case  of 
leather.  He  opened  the  case  and  disclosed  three 
vials. 

"All  the  med'cine  a  man  needs,  I  claim,"  he 
declared.  "Middle  one's  quinine;  right's  physic; 
left's  physic  again,  only  more  so.  Take  your 
choice,  one  or  all!" 


THE  WICKER  DEMIJOHN  119 

"Give  me  the  more  so,"  said  Thady,  who  felt? 
miserable  in  the  extreme. 

The  ancient  began  to  look  alarmed.  His  one 
intensely  blue  eye  shone  with  an  uneasy  light. 
His  continual  talk  became  querulous.  After  a 
time  he  forced  Thady  Shea  to  continue  their 
progress;  the  trail,  said  he,  must  lead  them  to  a 
ranch.  Groaning,  Shea  protested;  but  presently 
he  yielded  to  the  urgings  of  Griffith.  The  two 
men  followed  the  trail. 

There  was  a  man  named  Fred  Ross,  who  had 
homes  leaded  a  canon  in  the  hills  beyond  the 
Datils.  Thus  far  unmarried,  although  he  had 
his  hopes,  he  lived  alone;  a  hard,  rough  man, 
kindly  at  heart,  redly  wrinkled  of  face,  and  keenly 
alert  of  eye,  he  shot  beaver  and  turkey  when  the 
forest  rangers  were  not  around,  and  fared  well. 
Indeed,  he  was  wont  to  say  that  he  was  the  last 
man  in  the  United  States  to  know  the  taste  of 
that  succulent  morsel,  a  beaver's  tail. 

Fred  Ross  was  plowing  on  the  flat  behind  his 
shack  when  he  observed  the  approach  of  a  tattered 
old  man  who  moved  in  trembling  haste.  Having 
no  liking  for  tramps,  Ross  set  his  hands  on  his 
hips  and  met  the  visitor  with  a  vigilant  eye. 

"  Well?  "  he  snapped.     "  Who  in  time  are  you  ?  " 

"Don't  matter  'bout  me,  mister,"  said  the 
other,  agitatedly  pawing  a  long  and  dirty  white 
beard.  "A  friend  o'  mine  is  down  the  canon  a 
ways,  plumb  petered  out.     He  was  took  sick  last 


120  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

night — I  reckon  he's  got  a  touch  o'  fever.  D'you 
s'pose  you  could  let  him  lay  somewheres — mebbe 
in  that  cowshed  yonder?" 

"You  be  damned,  you  old  fool,"  said  Ross, 
harshly.  "I  ain't  got  no  room  for  sick  men  in  my 
shed — which  ain't  no  cowshed,  neither.  Where 
is  he?" 

"He — he  give  out  by  them  trees,"  faltered  Dad 
Griffith,  backing  away.  "I  got  a  little  money, 
mister " 

"You  be  blistered,  you  an5  your  money!" 
roared  Ross.  "I  don't  want  no  tramps  around 
here,  savvy?  I  got  trouble  of  my  own.  Let's 
have  a  look  at  this  friend  o'  yours — if  you-all  are 
tryin'  any  skin  game  on  me,  look  out!" 

He  strode  forward,  and  Dad  Griffith  fluttered 
away.  After  him  strode  Ross.  Ten  minutes 
later  they  came  to  the  gaunt  figure  of  Thady  Shea 
lying  beneath  some  scrub  oaks  and  muttering 
faintly .  Ross  leaned  over  him  then  straightened 
up  and  faced  the  ancient, 

"You — on  your  way!"  he  said,  roughly.  "I'll 
take  care  o'  this  feller,  but  I  don't  aim  to  keep 
two  of  ye." 

"Devil  take  ye,  I  don't  want  none  of  ye!" 
quavered  Griffith  in  querulous  anger.  "I'm  goin' 
to  Magdalena  to  get  me  a  job;  you  tell  him  so  when 
he  can  travel,  ye  goshly-gorful  old  ranch  hand! " 

Disdaining  a  response,  Ross  stooped ;  after  some 
effort,  he  got  Thady  Shea  in  the  "fireman's  grip" 


THE  WICKER  DEMIJOHN  121 

and  staggered  erect,  the  delirious  man  still  mutter- 
ing. He  turned  and  walked  toward  his  shack, 
striding  heavily  under  the  burden.  Dad  Griffith 
hesitated,  then  wagged  his  beard— he  did  not 
deem  it  wise  to  follow. 

"Hey!"  he  lifted  his  voice  after  the  departing 
rancher.  ''You  be  good  to  him,  hear  me?  Mind 
my  words,  if  ye  ain't  good  to  him  I'll — I'll  come 
back  and  burn  ye  out  some  night!" 

Ross  paid  no  heed  but  strode  on  out  of  sight. 
Dad  Griffith  shook  his  fist  in  senile  rage,  then 
slowly,  and  with  a  sigh,  turned  about  and  started 
in  the  opposite  direction. 

The  shack  which  Ross  had  built,  anticipating 
matrimony,  was  a  two-room  affair  with  a  lean-to 
kitchen.  Grunting  beneath  his  load,  Ross  stooped 
into  the  house  and  deposited  Thady  Shea  upon 
an  iron  bed. 

Ross  came  erect,  panting,  and  stared  down  at 
Shea's  fever-flushed  features.  He  scratched  his 
head,  as  though  in  perplexity,  and  his  eyes  were 
suddenly  very  kindly. 

"Poor  devil!"  he  said,  being  a  man  who  talked 
much  to  himself.  "Poor  devil!  Got  a  real  good 
face,  too.  What  in  time  can  I  do?  The  car's 
broke  down  and  there's  no  doctor  closer'n  Mag- 
dalena  anyhow.  Well,  I  never  knowed  whiskey  to 
fail  curin'  any  trouble,  and  I  guess  a  bit  o'  quinine 
will  help  out.  Thank  the  Lord  I  got  whiskey  to 
burn!" 


122  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

He  went  to  a  cupboard  in  the  corner  and  drew 
forth  a  wicker  demijohn,  a  new  demijohn,  a  demi- 
john that  hung  heavy  in  his  hand.  Upon  the 
chair  beside  the  bed  he  put  a  big  crockery  cup, 
thick  and  heavy.  He  poured  whiskey  into  it;  he 
filled  it  nearly  to  the  brim  with  raw  red  liquor;  a 
ray  of  sunlight  fell  upon  the  cup  and  made  it  seem 
filled  with  rich  thin  blood. 

"Just  for  a  starter,"  murmured  Ross.  "Now 
the  quinine." 

The  hours  passed,  and  darkness  fell.  Ross 
went  out  to  stable  and  bed  down  his  team.  He 
came  back,  .ate,  resumed  his  vigil. 

Ross  was  starkly  amazed  by  his  muttering 
patient.  Cup  upon  cup  of  whiskey  and  quinine  he 
poured  down  the  gaunt  man's  throat;  the  man 
drank  it  like  water,  avidly,  without  visible  effect. 
He  seemed  to  soak  up  the  raw  red  liquid  as  a 
sponge  soaks  up  water.  It  seeped  down  his 
throat  and  was  gone. 

"My  Lord!"  exclaimed  Ross  at  last,  awed 
despite  himself.     "The  man  ain't  human!" 

Thady  Shea  was  human;  although  invisible,  the 
effect  was  there.  Through  the  hours  of  darkness 
his  sonorous  voice  rose  and  filled  the  shack.  He 
spoke  of  things  past  the  understanding  of  the 
watching  Ross.  He  used  strange  names — names 
like  Ophelia  or  Rosalind  or  Desdemona;  at  times 
passion  shook  his  voice,  a  fury  of  resonant  passion; 
at  times  his  words  trembled  with  grief,  his  rolling 


THE  WICKER  DEMIJOHN  123 

words  quavered  and  surged  with  a  vehemently 
agonized  utterance,  until  the  listening  Ross  felt 
a  vague  ache  wrenched  into  his  own  throat. 

About  midnight,  Thady  Shea  fell  asleep.  It 
was  a  deep,  full  slumber,  a  slumber  of  stertorous 
breathing,  a  sound  and  absolute  slumber,  a 
drunken  slumber.  Thady  Shea  lay  motionless 
except  for  his  deeply  heaving  chest.  His  hands, 
face,  and  body  were  glistening  wet,  were  wet  with 
perspiration  that  streamed  from  him,  were  wet 
with  salty  sweat  oozing  from  his  fever-baked  flesh. 
Fred  Ross  turned  out  the  lamp  and  climbed  into  a 
bunk  in  the  corner. 

"That  ends  it,"  he  said,  drowsily.  "He'll  sweat 
out  the  fever  and  sleep  off  the  whiskey,  and  wake 
up  cured.  Can't  beat  whiskey!  Cures  every- 
thing!" 

Upon  the  following  morning  Ross  returned  from 
his  chores  to  find  Thady  Shea  still  lustily  snoring, 
the  fever  gone.  He  got  breakfast  and  departed 
to  his  work,  leaving  the  coffee  ready  to  hand. 
From  time  to  time  he  came  in  from  the  nearer  end 
of  the  flat  to  inspect  his  patient.  He  was  a  big 
man,  a  rough-tongued  man,  a  deep-hearted  man. 

Thady  Shea  wakened  to  an  uncomfortable 
sensation.  He  dimly  and  vaguely  recognized  the 
sensation;  he  was  bewildered  and  frightened  by  it. 
He  had  felt  that  uncomfortable  sensation  many 
times  in  his  life,  always  on  the  morning  after  a 
night  spent  with  the  jorum. 


124  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

He  tried  to  sit  up,  and  succeeded,  only  to  close 
his  eyes  before  a  blinding  wave  of  pain.  A  head- 
ache? It  went  with  the  other  symptoms,  of  course. 
He  had  no  remembrance  of  drinking.  Indeed,  he 
had  a  fierce  remembrance  of  having  meant  never 
to  drink  again.  Where  was  he  and  how  had  he 
come  here?  His  last  memory  was  of  trees,  and 
the  ancient  helping  him  as  he  sank  down.  He 
looked  around;  the  strange  room  bewildered  him. 

He  was  maddeningly  conscious  that  his  body, 
his  soul,  his  whole  being,  was  a  soaked  and  im- 
pregnated thing,  soaked  and  impregnated  with 
whiskey.  His  body  cried  out  for  more  whiskey,  his 
soul  writhed  within  him  for  more  whiskey.  His 
haggard  gaze  fell  upon  a  cup,  on  a  chair  at  his 
bedside.  He  reached  out  and  picked  up  the  cup. 
It  was  half  full  of  bitter  whiskey,  and  a  bottle  of 
powdered  quinine  explained  the  bitterness. 

Even  then,  Shea  hesitated.  He  hesitated,  but 
he  could  not  resist.  No  living  man  could  have 
resisted  the  fearful  outcry  of  body  and  soul  upon 
such  an  awakening.  It  was  no  mere  craving.  It 
was  a  tumultuous,  riotous,  lawless  eagerness — a 
fierceness  for  whiskey,  an  awful  tormenting  passion 
for  whiskey  such  as  he  had  never  before  known. 
That  was  because  of  the  flood  that  had  seeped 
and  soaked  through  his  whole  being.  The  raw 
red  liquor  like  thin  blood  had  permeated  all  his 
body  tissues  and  nerves,  as  water  permeates  the 
sun-dried  earth,  leaving  it  not  the  hard  white 


THE  WICKER  DEMIJOHN  125 

earth  but  the  brown  soft  mud.  The  earth  dries 
again  and  eracks  open,  calling  avidly  for  more 
water.     So  with  Thady  Shea's  body  and  soul. 

He  drank  gulpingly,  until  the  cup  was  empty. 
He  sat  down  the  cup;  it  was  a  heavy  cup  of  thick 
crockery.  His  nostrils  quivered  to  the  smell  of 
coffee.  He  began  to  take  in  his  surroundings,  to 
realize  them,  to  appraise  them.  He  began  to 
understand  that  he  must  have  been  drunk.  Drunk ! 
Who  was  responsible? 

A  shadow  darkened  the  morning  sunlight  in  the 
doorway.  There  on  the  threshold,  a  black  blotch 
against  the  brightness  outside,  stood  Fred  Ross, 
staring  at  the  man  who  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed 
and  stared  back  at  him.  Shea  saw  only  a  man — 
the  man  responsible. 

"Did  you "     He  paused,  licked  his  lips,  and 

continued  thickly.  "Did  you  give  me  whiskey? 
Did  you?" 

Ross  stepped  into  the  room. 

"Yes,  I  did,"  he  began,  roughly.  He  did  not 
finish. 

Something  shot  from  the  bedside,  something 
large  and  thick,  something  white  and  heavy,  that 
left  the  hand  of  Thady  Shea  like  a  bullet.  It  was 
the  thick,  heavy  crockery  cup.  Shea  flung  it 
blindly.     It   struck   Ross   over   the   ear   with   a 

Fred  Ross  looked  vaguely  surprised.  His  knees 
appeared  to  give  way  beneath  him.     He  caught  at 


126  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

the  table  and  seemed  to  swing  himself  forward,  half 
around.  He  fell,  and  lay  without  moving.  The 
heavy  white  crockery  cup,  unhurt  by  the  impact, 
rolled  in  the  doorway. 

Relaxing  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  Thady  Shea 
gave  no  more  attention  to  Fred  Ross,  but  lowered 
his  face  in  his  two  hands.  They  were  big,  strong 
hands;  they  clutched  into  his  hair  and  skin  until 
their  knuckles  stood  out  white.  Shea  sat  motion- 
less, thus,  as  though  he  were  trying  to  produce 
some  exterior  which  would  quell  the  anguish  within 
him. 

His  voice  rang  with  a  sonorous  bitterness  as  he 
spoke  aloud.  The  recumbent  Ross  moved,  then 
sat  up  with  a  lithe^  agile  motion;  but  Thady  Shea 
did  not  stir.  He  was  lost  in  the  words  that  seemed 
wrung  from  his  very  soul. 

"I've  tried,  I've  tried!  How  have  I  been  weak, 
how  have  I  failed?  Yet  I  have  failed.  I've  been 
drunk.     I  always  fail." 

His  speech  was  heavy,  slow,  words  coming 
tenuously  to  his  numbed  brain.  He  did  not  hear 
the  slight  sound  made  by  Ross  in  rising  erect,  in 
stepping  to  the  wall.  He  did  not  see  Ross  at  all, 
nor  the  hand  of  Ross  that  plucked  a  revolver 
from  a  holster  suspended  on  the  wall.  He  spoke 
again,  the  words  coming  with  more  coherence. 

"Always  an  unseen  hand  blocks  me.  Is  it  your 
doing,  oh,  God?  Before,  it  was  my  own  fault, 
for  I  was  weak.     This  time  it  was  not  my  fault; 


THE  WICKER  DEMIJOHN  127 

I  knew  nothing  about  it.  God,  are  You  trying  to 
turn  me  back  into  the  old  shiftless  life,  into  the 
old  vagabond,  aimless  existence?  God*  are  You 
trying  to  make  me  a  drunkard  again?  Are  You 
trying  to  rob  me  of  all  purpose  ?" 

He  paused.  The  breath  came  from  his  lungs; 
it  was  a  deep  and  uneven  breath,  a  sobbing  breath, 
the  breath  of  one  who  is  fast  in  the  grip  of  terrible 
emotion.  At  him  stood  and  stared  Ross.  Inch 
by  inch  the  revolver  lowered.  The  keen,  alert, 
battling  eyes  of  the  rancher  were  filled  with  per- 
plexity, with  comprehension,  with  a  strange  gentle- 
ness.    Again  Shea  spoke,  his  face  still  in  his  hands: 

"I've  done  my  best,  God  knows!  I've  put 
whiskey  out  of  my  life,  stifled  the  craving  for  it, 
forgotten  about  it.  And  now — now!  Why  is  it 
that  even  this  one  purpose  is  denied  me?  Is  there 
no  help — is  there  no  help  ?  Is  there  no  help  for " 

His  fingers  clenched  upon  his  iron-gray  hair, 
swept  through  it.  His  head  came  up.  His  blaz- 
ing black  eyes  stared  into  the  gaze  of  Ross.  For 
half  a  moment  the  two  men  looked  at  each  other, 
motionless. 

Then,  abruptly,  Ross  pushed  home  the  revolver 
into  its  holster. 

"Pardner,"  he  said,  casually,  "let's  have  a  cup 
o'  coffee." 

He  went  to  the  stove  in  the  kitchen,  raked  up 
charred  black  brands,  opened  the  draft,  and  put 
the  coffeepot  over  the  kindling  embers.     He  set 


128  THE  MESA  TRAII^ 

two  thick  crockery  cups  upon  the  boards  of  the 
table.     He  got  out  spoons  and  sugar  and  "canned 
cow."     Then  he  turned  to  the  other  room  and 
with  a  jerk  of  the  head  invited  his  guest. 
Thady  Shea  rose,  very  unsteadily,  and  came. 


CHAPTER  X 

MRS.    CRUMP   SATS   SOMETHING 

OVER  the  rough  table  Fred  Ross  delivered 
himself. 
"Something  about  you  I  like,  Thady 
Shea,"  he  said,  level-eyed.  "The  old  man  who 
fetched  you  here  told  me  your  name.  Don't  know 
anything  more  about  you.  Didn't  know  whiskey 
was  bad  for  you ;  anyway,  it  cured  the  fever.  First 
I  knew  about  you  was  in  yonder,  when  you  talked. 
Damn  good  thing  for  you,  pardner!  Savvy?    Yes. 

"Tell  you  somethin'.  I  used  to  be  range  rider 
— a  puncher,  savvy?  Forty  a  month.  No  future. 
Never  mind  the  details,  but  it  come  to  me  that 
if  I  didn't  get  somethin'  to  work  for,  I  might's 
well  quit  livin'.  So  I  took  up  this  here  quarter 
section  and  started  in.  It  cost  me  dear,  I'm 
tellin'  you ! 

"I  sweat  blood  over  every  inch  o'  this  here  land. 
Folks  said  it  was  no  good.  I  put  up  this  shack, 
put  it  up  right.  I  set  in  to  raise  crops.  I  put  my 
body  into  it.  I  put  my  heart  into  it.  I  put  my 
livin'  eternal  soul  into  it — and  by  the  Lord  I'm 
goin'  to  win !  I  had  somethin'  to  work  for,  that's 
all." 

129 


130  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

Ross  leaned  back.  The  flame  died  from  his 
eyes.  He  surveyed  Thady  Shea  critically,  ap- 
praisingly,  generously. 

"When  I  heard  what  you  said,  in  yonder,"  he 
pursued,  "I  seen  all  of  a  sudden  that  you  were  a 
man  like  me.  Savvy?  Yes.  I  don't  blame  you, 
now,  for  lamming  me  over  the  ear  like  you  done. 
My  Lord !  Ain't  I  talked  to  God  like  you  done  in 
there?  Ain't  things  come  up  to  rip  the  very  guts 
out  o'  my  soul?  Well,  it's  like  that  with  all  folks, 
I  guess,  only  it  comes  different.  Savvy?  Yes.  I 
gave  you  whiskey,  and  I  was  a  damn  fool.  That's 
all." 

Ross  rose  and  began  to  clatter  dishes  into  the 
dishpan.  Thady  Shea  rose  and  went  to  the  door- 
way.  He  stood  there,  looking  up  the  east-running 
canon  toward  the  morning  sun.  He  did  not  see 
the  half -plowed  flat,  he  did  not  see  the  horses  and 
plow;  he  did  not  see  the  pinon  trees  and  the  trickle 
of  water.  Tears  were  in  his  eyes.  For  one  blaz- 
ing moment  he  had  seen  into  the  soul  of  Fred  Ross, 
the  iron  soul,  the  gentle  soul,  the  brave  soul  of 
Fred  Ross. 

Suddenly  he  turned  about,  feeling  upon  his 
shoulder  the  hand  of  the  other  man. 

"Shea,  you  asked  a  while  ago  if  there  wasn't  no 
help.  Well,  maybe  there  is — if  you  want  it.  Do 
you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Thady  Shea,  huskily. 

Upon  the  following  morning  he  started  in  to 


MRS.  CRUMP  SAYS  SOMETHING    131 

work;  he  was  a  bit  weak,  but  he  insisted  upon 
working.  He  dared  not  do  without  working. 
He  began  to  clear  another  flat  farther  up  the 
canon,  ridding  it  of  brush  and  scrub  oak  and 
pifions. 

As  he  worked,  Thady  Shea  thought  much  of 
that  wicker  demijohn,  back  in  the  cupboard  of 
the  shack.  Once,  when  he  came  in  to  luncheon 
ahead  of  Ross,  he  opened  the  cupboard.  He 
looked  at  the  clean  wicker  demijohn,  the  new 
demijohn,  the  demijohn  which  hung  so  heavily 
and  lovingly  to  the  hand;  as  he  looked,  a  sunbeam 
struck  the  glass  behind  the  woven  wicker  and  made 
it  seem  filled  with  rich  thin  blood.  Thady  Shea 
shivered — and  shut  the  door.  But  he  could  not 
shut  that  demijohn  from  his  thoughts. 

He  prayed,  every  hour  he  worked,  that  Ross 
would  hide  away  that  demijohn.  He  said  nothing 
to  Ross  about  it;  he  felt  vaguely  ashamed  to  let 
Ross  know  of  his  struggles  with  himself.  He 
shrank  from  revealing  how  he  was  tempted. 

Days  passed.  Twice,  now,  Thady  Shea  had 
come  in  from  work  merely  to  open  that  door  and 
look  at  the  demijohn.  The  first  time,  he  had  forced 
himself  to  be  content  with  the  look.  The  second 
time  he  hefted  it;  then  he  reached  for  the  cork, 
trembling — but  just  then  the  step  of  Ross  ap- 
proached, and  Shea  replaced  the  demijohn.  He 
knew  that  he  had  been  saturated  with  liquor,  that 
in  his  involuntary  carouse  his  body  had  seeped 


132  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

up  the  whiskey  as  the  thirsty  earth  seeps  up  water. 
The  craving  was  there,  the  wicked  craving  of  the 
cracked  earth  for  water. 

Terrible  were  the  first  few  nights.  Despite 
weariness,  sleep  would  not  come.  On  tiptoe 
Thady  Shea  would  sneak  out  of  the  shack,  out 
into  the  bitter  cold  night,  out  under  the  white, 
cold  stars.  He  would  stride  up  and  down  the  cold 
earth  until  the  chill  ate  into  his  bones;  then, 
shivering,  he  would  tiptoe  back  and  roll  up  in  his 
blankets,  thinking  how  a  drink  would  warm  him. 

As  the  days  passed,  he  worked  harder.  He 
slaved  until,  at  darkness,  he  would  nod  over  his 
pipe.  He  did  not  shave,  remembering  the  words 
of  the  ancient,  and  his  gaunt  face  became  filled 
and  strengthened  by  an  iron-gray  beard. 

All  the  while  he  cursed  his  aimlessness,  his  lack 
of  purpose.  He  was  looking  out,  beyond  the 
present;  he  was  looking  over  the  horizon.  He  was 
thinking  of  Mrs.  Crump.  He  prayed  under  a 
sweat-soaked  brow  that  some  great  flaming  pur- 
pose would  come  into  his  life.  The  word  "pur- 
pose" had  become  to  him  a  creed,  a  mania. 

He  did  not  realize,  except  very  dimly,  that  for 
him  life  had  already  centred  upon  one  immediate 
and  tremendous  purpose:  to  avoid,  to  shrink  from, 
that  clean  wicker  demijohn  in  the  corner  cup- 
board!   Unawares,  the  purpose  had  come  to  him. 

And  then,  upon  a  day,  Fred  Ross  patched  the 
broken  flivver  and  went  to  Datil  for  grub.    Thady 


MRS.  CRUMP  SAYS  SOMETHING    133 

Shea  was  left  alone,  alone  with  the  ranch,  alone 
with  the  pinon  trees  and  the  horses,  alone  with 
the  shack,  alone  with  the  corner  cupboard  and 
the  clean  wicker  demijohn.  Fred  Ross  did  not 
seem  to  perceive  any  danger  in  leaving  Shea  thus 
alone. 

Fred  Ross  reached  the  store  at  Datil  about  noon, 
after  a  long  pull.  Datil  lay  on  the  highway,  where 
lordly  Packards  and  lowly  Fords  wended  east  and 
west,  between  California  and  St  Louis.  Datil  was 
nothing  more  than  a  frame  store-hotel-post  office. 
In  the  rear  of  the  long  building  were  sheds,  relics 
of  the  days  when  the  far  ranchers  came  in  on 
horseback,  of  the  days  when  burros  and  bearded 
prospectors  and  unrestricted  Indians  roused  talk 
of  great  and  blood-stirring  events. 

A  mixed  company  lunched  that  day  in  the  long 
dining  room.  Ross  was  too  late  for  the  first  table, 
and  he  stood  waiting  in  the  adjoining  room,  smok- 
ing by  the  huge  cobbled  fireplace,  talking  with 
other  men  who  had  drifted  along  too  late  for  the 
first  serving. 

The  talk  struck  upon  Thady  Shea  and  the  huge 
joke  of  which  Abel  Dorales  had  been  the  victim. 
Ross  listened  and  said  nothing,  as  was  his  wont. 
He  heard  that  Thady  Shea  had  skipped  the 
country;  had,  at  any  rate,  not  been  found — must 
have  gone  over  the  Arizona  line. 

"Too  bad,"  commented  a  sturdy  rancher  from 
Quemado  way.     "He  must  ha'  been  a  right  strap- 


134  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

ping  guy,  eh?  And  what  he  done  down  to  Zacaton, 
when  Ben  Aimes  give  him  a  drink — say,  ain't  ye 
heard  'bout  that?     It's  sure  rich!" 

The  speaker  recounted,  with  many  added  elabo- 
rations and  details,  the  story  of  Thady  Shea  and 
his  axe  helve.  Fred  Ross  listened  in  silence.  Fred 
Ross  thought  of  that  heavy  white  crockery  cup; 
reflectively,  he  rubbed  his  head  above  his  ear,  and 
grinned  to  himself.  He  was  not  the  only  one  who 
had  suffered  for  giving  Thady  Shea  a  drink,  then ! 

When  the  talk  turned  upon  reprisals,  Fred  Ross 
listened  with  more  attention.  Charges  had  been 
sworn  out  against  Shea,  it  appeared;  they  had 
been  sworn  out  by  that  fool  Aimes,  but  had  later 
been  withdrawn.  Abel  Dorales  had  seen  to  it 
that  they  had  been  withdrawn.  Abel  Dorales 
had  come  to  Magdalena;  there  he  had  half  killed 
three  drunken  miners  who  had  ventured  to  taunt 
him,  and  for  the  same  reason  he  had  taken  a  black- 
snake  to  a  sheepman.  Abel  Dorales  had  given 
out  that  he,  and  he  alone,  intended  to  deal  with 
Thady  Shea  whenever  the  latter  was  found.  It 
was  a  personal  matter,  outside  the  law.  This 
attitude  met  with  general  approval. 

"Not  so  bad!"  reflected  Fred  Ross,  as  he 
passed  in  to  his  meal.  "Not  so  bad!  The  law 
ain't  after  him,  anyhow.  Now,  if  he's  let  that 
demijohn  alone  to-day,  I  reckon  he's  all  right. 
Pretty  tough  on  him,  maybe,  to  leave  him  alone, 
but " 


MRS.  CRUMP  SAYS  SOMETHING    135 

The  ins  and  outs  of  the  business  transaction 
attempted  by  Dorales,  the  transaction  concerning 
Number  Sixteen,  had,  of  course,  not  been  made 
public.  But  the  general  gist  of  the  matter  was  an 
open  secret.  The  joke  on  Dorales  was  huge,  and 
was  immensely  appreciated. 

The  meal  over,  Ross  went  out  to  his  car  in  order 
to  get  his  tobacco.  He  idly  observed  that  along- 
side his  own  flivver  had  been  run  another,  a  dust- 
white  flivver  with  new  tires.  He  paid  no  attention 
to  it  until  he  was  drawn  by  the  sound  of  a  voice 
which  he  instantly  recognized.  He  stood  quiet, 
listening,  looking  toward  the  two  figures  on  the 
far  side  of  the  dust- white  flivver;  they  did  not  see 
him  at  all. 

"No'm,"  said  the  voice  which  Ross  had  recog- 
nized. "No'm,  I  couldn't  get  no  work  to  Mag- 
dalena.  Things  is  in  a  goshly-gorful  state  in  the 
printing  business !  I  done  walked  here,  aiming  to 
make  for  Saint  Johns,  over  the  Arizony  line. 
Seein's  you're  headed  that  way,  ma'am,  if  ye  could 
give  me  a  lift " 

"Walked  here,  did  ye?"  cut  in  a  voice  strange 
to  Ross.     "Had  any  vittles?" 

"Not  to  speak  of,  ma'am.     I'm  busted." 

"Well,  you  trot  right  in  alongside  o'  me.  Hurry 
up,  now — ain't  got  much  time  to  waste.  My 
land,  of  all  the  fool  men — and  at  vour  age !  Hurrv 
up." 

The  two  figures  departed  toward  the  stirrup- 


136  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

high  open  flooring  that  formed  a  porch  the  length 
of  the  frame  building.  One  was  the  figure  of  Dad 
Griffith.  The  other  was  the  figure  of  a  very  large 
woman,  harsh  of  features;  she  was  clad  in  ragged 
but  neat  khaki,  and  beneath  her  chin  were  tied 
the  strings  of  an  old  black  bonnet.  Against  her 
wrinkled  features  glowed  two  bright-blue  eyes 
with  the  brilliancy  of  living  jewels,  giving  the  He 
to  their  surrounding  tokens  of  age.  She  was 
unknown  to  Fred  Ross. 

Filling  his  pipe,  the  homesteader  sought  out  the 
store,  and,  with  inevitable  delays,  set  to  work 
making  his  purchases.  This  was  an  occupation 
demanding  ceremony.  Other  men  were  here  on 
the  same  errand,  and  there  was  gossip  of  crops, 
land,  and  war  to  be  swapped.  This  was  the 
forum  of  the  countryside,  the  agora  of  the  scat- 
tered ranches. 

Thus  it  happened  that  by  the  time  Ross  went 
to  his  car  with  an  armload  of  supplies  old  Dad 
Griffith  had  finished  his  meal  and  was  lounging  on 
the  steps  of  the  stirrup-high  porch.  He  started 
up  at  sight  of  Ross,  who  paid  no  attention  to  him, 
and  followed  the  rancher  out  to  the  car. 

"Hey!"  he  exclaimed,  eagerly.  "Where's  that 
there  partner  of  mine?" 

Ross  dumped  his  purchases  into  the  car  and 
turned.  He  desired  only  to  be  rid  of  this  parasite, 
to  be  rid  of  him  for  good  and  all — and  to  rid 
Thady  Shea  of  him. 


MRS.  CRUMP  SAYS  SOMETHING   137 

"He's  where  you  left  him,  old-timer — and  where 
you're  not  wanted." 

"Is— is  he  all  right?" 

"Sure.  I  fed  him  whiskey  until  he  got  well. 
He's  there  now  with  a  demijohn.  I  never  seen  a 
man  able  to  swallow  more  red  licker  than  that 
partner  of  yours!  But  you  needn't  go  showing 
your  nose  around  there,  savvy?  He's  workin'  for 
me  and  you're  not  wanted." 

"You  go  to  hell!"  spluttered  the  wrathful 
ancient.  "You  goshly-gorful  old  ranch  hand! 
That's  what  you  are!" 

Ross  laughed,  swung  about  to  his  flivver,  and 
cranked  up.  He  turned  the  car  and  vanished 
amid  a  trail  of  dust,  leaving  the  ancient  to  sputter 
senile  threats  and  curses.  He  accounted  himself 
well  rid  of  that  old  vagabond,  in  which  he  was 
quite  right. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Ross  got 
home;  the  trail  to  his  canon  from  the  county  road 
was  wretchedly  rough.  As  he  drove,  he  began 
to  blame  himself  for  having  left  Thady  Shea  all 
alone,  throughout  the  day  from  sunrise  to  sunset, 
with  that  wicker  demijohn.  He  began  to  think 
that  he  had  stacked  the  cards  too  heavily.  He 
began  to  think  that  his  desire  to  test  Thady  Shea 
had  been  a  mite  too  strong. 

He  drove  up  to  the  shed,  seeing  no  sign  of  his 
guest.  The  house,  too,  was  deserted.  Ross  went 
straight  to  the  corner  cupboard  and  jerked  open 


138  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

the  door.  The  clean  wicker  demijohn  was  gone. 
It  was  not  in  the  house. 

"Hell's  bells!"  quoth  Ross,  savagely. 

He  strode  outside  and  scanned  the  vicinity. 
Nothing  was  in  sight.  The  team  was  gone.  He 
walked  up  the  canon,  seeing  that  the  lower  flat  was 
empty  of  life.  At  the  turn  he  came  in  sight  of 
the  upper  flat,  and  paused. 

The  team  was  there;  Thady  Shea  had  been 
plowing.  Thady  Shea  was  there,  too,  but  he  was 
not  plowing.  He  was  standing  at  one  corner  of 
the  flat  beside  a  pile  of  brush.  He  was  lifting 
something  in  his  hand.  It  was  the  wicker  demi- 
john. He  set  it  on  his  arm  and  laid  the  mouth  to 
his  lips.  Ross  could  see  him  drink,  gulpingly. 
He  drank  long,  avidly,  until  Ross  swore  in  blank 
amazement  that  a  man  could  drink  thus;  he  drank 
as  the  sun-cracked  earth  drinks  water. 

Ross  strode  forward.  Thady  Shea  turned  to 
meet  him. 

"Hello,  Ross!  I  was  just  knocking  off  work  for 
the  day.     Drink?" 

Ross  took  the  demijohn.  He  looked  at  Thady 
Shea  with  hard,  bitter  cold  eyes.  His  eyes  soft- 
ened as  he  remembered  his  misgivings.  After  all, 
was  it  not  his  own  fault  ?  He  lifted  the  demijohn 
on  his  arm  and  laid  the  mouth  to  his  lips. 

"Hell!"  He  spluttered  in  stark  surprise.  He 
stared  at  the  demijohn,  stared  at  the  smiling 
Thady  Shea.     "Hell!    I  thought " 


MRS.  CRUMP  SAYS  SOMETHING    139 

Thady  Shea  laughed.  It  was  a  deep,  sonorous 
laugh. 

"I  couldn't  stand  it,  Ross,"  he  said.  "That 
cursed  jug  was  too  much  for  me.  So  I  emptied 
out  the  whiskey  and  filled  it  with  water,  and  went 
to  work.  I'm  sorry  about  the  whiskey — I'll  pay 
you  back." 

''Damn  the  whiskey!"  roared  Fred  Ross,  de- 
lightedly, and  wiped  his  lips.  "Come  on  back 
to  the  shack  and  let's  eat!" 

For  the  first  time  in  long  days,  the  two  men  talked 
over  their  meal.  They  talked  of  the  world  out- 
side, talked  of  ranch  gossip,  talked  of  the  war  and 
the  government  and  the  high  price  of  wool. 
Ross  meant  to  run  some  sheep  up  at  the  head  of 
the  canon,  and  discoursed  on  the  project  at  length. 
Not  until  their  pipes  were  going,  and  the  red  after- 
glow was  shrouding  the  fading  day,  did  he  mention 
what  he  had  learned  at  Datil. 

"Heard  something  over  to  the  hotel,"  he  men- 
tioned, casually.  "They  were  talking  about  you. 
It  appears  that  Abel  Dorales  has  called  off  the 
sheriff  and  withdrawn  all  charges  agin'  you.  He's 
lookin'  for  you  his  own  self,  I  hear.  Makin'  it  a 
personal  matter." 

Thady  Shea  drew  a  deep  breath.  Nothing  to 
fear  from  the  law,  then!  The  more  personal 
menace  of  Abel  Dorales  he  did  not  consider  at  all. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  happened — if  you  don't 
mind,"  he  said,  diffidently.     It  was  the  first  time, 


140  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

since  that  day  when  he  had  felled  Ross  with  the 
cup,  that  personalities  had  been  touched  upon 
between  them. 

He  told  his  story.  Ross  made  no  comment 
whatever;  in  that  story  he  perceived  that  Thady 
Shea  was  a  queer,  impulsive  child,  a  man  whose 
fear  and  reason  were  overruled  by  his  impulses, 
a  man  whose  primitive  soul  arose  in  a  lonely 
grandeur  of  sincerity,  of  absolute  and  wonderful 
sincerity.  Ross  felt  awed,  as  a  man  feels  awed 
when  confronted  by  the  mystery  of  a  child's  soul. 

The  name  of  Mehitabel  Crump  meant  nothing 
to  the  rancher;  he  had  perhaps  heard  of  her  in  past 
years,  but  had  forgotten  her  name.  When  Thady 
Shea  fell  silent,  Ross  knocked  the  dottle  from  his 
pipe  and  filled  it  anew. 

"You  watch  out  for  Dorales,"  he  said.  "I 
know  him.     He's  bad  med'cine." 

"So  everyone  says,"  returned  Shea,  gravely 
serious.     "I  hadn't  found  it  so." 

Ross  seemed  to  discern  humour  in  this,  and 
chuckled.  "Think  ye'll  stay  here,  Shea?  Glad 
to  have  ye." 

"Unless  something  turns  up — yes.  I — well,  I 
haven't  found  that  purpose  we  spoke  about  once. 
I'm  trying  hard.  I'm  trying  to  find  it,  to  make 
it  come,  to  figure  out  what  I  must  do.  Yet  I  seem 
all  helpless,  bewildered " 

"I  never  heard  of  any  one  puttin'  a  rush  label 
on  Providence,  not  with  any  success  to  mention," 


MRS.  CRUMP  SAYS  SOMETHING    141 

said  Ross,  dryly.  "You're  lookin'  so  hard  for 
something  that  you  can't  find  it.  You're  too 
damn  serious.  About  sixty,  ain't  ye?  Well,  at 
sixty  you're  goin'  through  what  ye  should  ha'  gone 
through  at  thirty  or  less.  Limber  up  your  joints 
an'  take  it  easier,  pardner.  Wait  for  what  turns 
up,  an'  remember  God  ain't  dealing  from  a  cold 
deck." 

Here  was  wisdom,  and  Thady  Shea  tried  to 
accept  it. 

Upon  the  following  afternoon  Thady  Shea  was 
laboriously  plowing  the  upper  flat.  Down  at  the 
shack,  Fred  Ross  was  cleaning  house.  He  was 
cleaning  house  in  his  own  simple  and  thorough 
fashion.  He  took  everything  outside  in  the  sun. 
Then  he  set  to  work  with  a  bucket  of  suds  and  a 
broom,  and  scrubbed  the  walls,  floor,  and  ceiling; 
he  was  figuring  on  papering  the  walls  a  little 
later.  The  result  of  this  cleaning  was  damp  but 
satisfactory. 

Having  returned  most  of  his  belongings  to  their 
proper  places,  Ross  was  engaged  in  fitting  together 
the  iron  bed.  He  heard  the  grinding  roar  of  a  car 
coming  up  the  canon  trail  in  low  gear,  and  went  to 
the  doorway.  A  dust- white  flivver  was  approach- 
ing. As  he  watched,  it  came  up  to  the  shed  and 
halted.     There  was  but  one  person  in  the  car. 

From  the  dust-white  flivver  alighted  a  tall, 
large  woman  clad  in  old  but  neat  khaki,  upon  her 
head  a  black  bonnet.     With  surprise,  Ross  recog- 


142  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

nized  her;  it  was  the  woman  whom  he  had  seen  at 
Datil  the  previous  day.  It  was  the  woman  who 
had  bought  Dad  Griffith  a  meal,  and  who,  pre- 
sumably, had  given  the  ancient  a  lift  toward  the 
Arizona  line. 

She  approached  the  doorway  and  transfixed 
Ross  with  keen,  glittering  blue  eyes.  Her  look 
was  one  of  unmistakable  truculence,  of  hostility. 

"Your  name  Ross?"  she  demanded. 

"It  is,  ma'am,"  he  meekly  answered.  "Will " 

"My  name's  Mehitabel  Crump,  with  a  Mrs. 
for  a  handle,"  she  stated.  "You  got  a  man  by 
the  name  o'  Shea  workin'  here?" 

"Yes'm,"  said  Ross,  staring.  So  this  was  the 
Mrs.  Crump  of  whom  Shea  had  spoken!  "Yes'm. 
Will  ye  come  in?  I'll  go  right  up  the  canon  and 
fetch"  him " 

"You  shut  up,"  she  snapped,  harshly.  "I  aim 
to  do  my  own  fetchin',  and  I  aim  to  have  a  word 
with  you  here  and  now,  stranger.  I  hear  you  been 
keepin'  Thady  Shea  filled  up  with  booze." 

Ross  was  staggered,  not  only  by  the  amazing 
appearance  of  this  woman  here,  but  by  her  direct 
attack.  She  meant  business,  savage  business,  and 
showed  it. 

Those  last  words,  however,  suggested  an  ex- 
planation to  Ross.  On  the  previous  day  he  had 
given  the  ancient  an  "earful"  about  Thady  Shea 
and  the  whiskey.  This  woman,  who  now  turned 
out  to  be  Shea's  friend  Mrs.  Crump,  had  given  the 


MRS.  CRUMP  SAYS  SOUTHING    143 

ancient  a  ride  westward.     The  connection  was  too 
obvious  to  miss. 

"You  got  all  that  dope  from  old  Griffith,  eh?" 
he  said.  "I  was  at  Datil  yesterday  and  seen  you 
there.  If  I  ever  see  that  old  fool  Griffith  again, 
I'll  poke  a  bullet  through  him!" 

"Then  you  ain't  real  liable  to  do  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Crump,  grimly.  "If  that  old  vagabone  told  me 
the  truth,  I  aim  to  put  you  where  you  won't  give 
whiskey  to  no  more  men.  Now,  hombre,  speak  up 
real  soft  and  sudden!  Did  you  give  Thady  Shea 
whiskey — or  not?" 

In  the  blue  eyes  of  Mrs.  Crump  was  a  look 
which  Ross  had  not  seen  since  the  days  of  his  boy- 
hood. Even  then  he  had  seen  it  only  once 
or  twice,  before  the  "killers"  of  the  old 
days  were  put  under  sod.  Knowing  what  caused 
that  look,  Ross  laughed— but  he  laughed  to 
himself. 

"Well,"  he  responded,  gravely,  "in  a  way  it  is 
true,  ma'am.  I  sure  did  fill  Shea  with  red  licker, 
filled  him  plumb  to  the  brim.  And  when  I  went  to 
Datil  yesterday,  there  was  a  jug  two  thirds  full  o' 
licker  in  that  cupboard.  When  I  come  home  las' 
night,  ma'am,  there  wasn't  a  single  drop  o' 
whiskey  left.     For  a  fact." 

Try  as  he  might,  he  could  not  keep  the  twinkle 
from  his  eye.  That  twinkle  was  something  Mrs. 
Crump  could  not  understand;  it  bade  her  go  slow, 
be  cautious.     She  knew  her  type  of  man  animal, 


144  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

and  that  twinkle  gave  her  covert  warning  not  to 
make  a  fool  of  herself. 

"I'm  goin'  to  see  him,"  she  declared,  after 
compressing  her  lips  and  eying  Fred  Ross  sus- 
piciously. "If  you've  made  a  soak  out  o'  him, 
pilgrim  Ross,  I'm  coming  right  back  here  and 
perforate  you  without  no  further  warning.  That 
goes  as  it  lays — so  ile  up  your  gun." 

She  turned  about  and  strode  away,  up  the 
canon.  Once  she  glanced  back,  to  see  Ross 
standing  where  she  had  left  him,  and  upon  his  face 
was  a  wide  grin. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THADY   SHEA   DISCOVERS  A   PURPOSE 

WHAT  in  hell  made  you  run  off?"  de- 
manded Mrs.  Crump  in  an  aggrieved  tone. 
"Well,"  hesitated  Thady  Shea,  "I 
figured  I  might  get  you  into  trouble  with  Mackin- 
tavers  and  his  crowd;  Dorales  would  be  after  me, 
you  know.  And  then  I  wanted  to  make  up  for 
what  I'd  done.  I  wanted  to  go  away  and  prove 
to  myself  that  I  could  do  something — without 
any  one  else  helping  me.  It's  a  little  vague, 
but " 

"Oh,  I  savvy,"  finished  Mrs.  Crump  for  him. 
"My  land,  Thady!  I  been  hunting  you  all  over 
creation,  but  I  never  aimed  to  see  you  lookin'  like 
this — never!"  Hands  on  her  hips,  she  surveyed 
him  with  appraising,  delighted  eyes. 

As  he  stood  there  awkwardly  beside  the  plow, 
Thady  Shea  did  look  unlike  her  last  view  of  him. 
Also,  he  sounded  different.  They  had  talked  at 
length,  but  in  all  their  talk,  in  all  his  tale  to  date, 
he  had  not  once  broken  into  the  rolling,  rounded 
phrases  which  formerly  he  had  so  loved. 

He  showed  the  lack  of  self-consciousness  that 
was  upon  him.    It   was  not  the  bristly  beard 

145 


146  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

which  had  wrought  the  change,  although  this 
disguised  him  startlingly.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
gruelling  work  which  he  had  been  doing  of  late, 
with  its  effects. 

In  this  man#of  fifty-eight  there  showed  a  strange 
boyishness.  He  was  no  longer  gaunt  and  haggard. 
True,  there  was  a  haunting  gentleness,  a  sadness, 
iniis  eyes,  but  it  was  the  sadness  of  time  past,  not 
of  the  present.  His  look,  his  manner,  had  taken 
on  a  definite  personality.  No  longer  was  he 
Thaddeus  Hoscius,  the  actor  who  fitted  himself 
into  the  characters  of  other  men;  Montalembert 
was  dead  and  here  stood  Thady  Shea,  man  of  his 
hands;  one  whose  eyes  met  the  world  honestly  and 
earnestly,  with  wide  questioning,  with  a  balanced 
poise  and  surety  in  self. 

"My  land!"  pursued  Mrs.  Crump,  meditatively. 
"When  I  think  of  the  knock-kneed,  blear-eyed 
critter  I  found  lay  in'  up  above  the  Najada  grade, 
I  can't  hardly  recognize  ye,  Thady!  Ye  look's  if 
ye'd  got  used  to  leaning  on  yourself.  Want  to 
come  back  to  Number  Sixteen  with  me?" 

Shea  frowned  in  perplexity.  His  eyes  were 
serious.  He  had  set  forth  all  that  had  happened 
to  him,  all  that  he  had  done;  Mrs.  Crump  had 
given  him  no  blame,  but  in  her  eyes  had  shone 
pride  and  praise. 

"I— I  don't  know,"  he  said,  slowly.  "I'm 
looking  for  a  purpose  in  life.  I'm  trying  to  find 
something  definite.     It's  so  long  since  I've  had 


A  PURPOSE  DISCOVERED  147 

anything  definite!  These  twenty  years,  and  more, 
there  has  seemed  to  be  a  knot  gripped  about  my 
soul,  somewhere — stifling  me.  I  don't  seem 
to " 

"No  need  for  all  that,"  said  Mrs.  Crump, 
impatiently.     "  You're  rich  now." 

Shea's  eyes  widened.     "You  mean — the  mine? " 

"No,  I  don't.  That  mine  is  a  humdinger,  or 
will  be  once  it  gets  started  to  paying.  I  got 
Lewis  an*  Gilbert  workin'  there  now,  they  bein'  out 
o*  jail  and  shut  o'  that  old  charge.  No,  Thady;  I 
mean  the  ten  thousand  we  screwed  out  o'  that 
skunk  Mackintavers." 

Shea  looked  blank.  "Ten  thousand?  I  don't 
understand." 

Mrs.  Crump  sighed  in  resignation,  and  set  her- 
self to  explain. 

"It  was  a  right  smart  trick  to  indorse  that 
check  Dorales  had  made  ready  for  ye — 'bout  the 
smartest  thing  I  ever  knowed  ye  to  do,  Thady.  I 
takes  that  check  and  lights  out  and  cashes  it  'fore 
old  Mackintavers  heard  what  had  happened  to 
Dorales.  The  money's  in  your  name,  down  to  the 
First  National  at  Silver  City;  I  ain't  touched  it." 

She  fumbled  in  her  bosom  and  produced  a 
folded  check  book. 

"Here's  the  check  book  they  give  me,  all  proper. 
Sign  your  checks  the  same  way  ye  indorsed  that 
one,  savvy?  I  turned  in  the  note  ye  left  me  at  the 
shack,  with  your  signature  on  it,  to  the  bank." 


148  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

She  broke  off.  She  came  to  a  faltering  but  de- 
cided halt. 

For,  as  she  had  spoken,  a  queer  look  had  stolen 
across  the  beard-blurred  features  of  Thady  Shea, 
and  had  settled  there.  It  was  such  a  look  as 
she  had  never  previously  seen  upon  his  face.  It 
was  a  look  of  incredulous  wonder,  of  grief,  of 
dismay. 

The  personal  equation  in  that  look  silenced  and 
startled  Mrs.  Crump.  It  conveyed  to  her  that  she 
must  have  said  some  terrible  thing,  something 
which  had  shocked  Thady  Shea  beyond  words, 
something  which  had  struck  and  hurt  him  like  a 
blow.  She  rapidly  thought  back — no,  she  had  not 
even  swbrn! 

"What  the  devil  ails  ye?"  she  demanded. 

"Why— why— that  check!"  blurted  Shea.  He 
drew  back  from  the  check  book  which  she  was 
extending  to  him.  His  eyes  were  wide,  fixed.  "I 
never  meant  it — that  way !  I  never  dreamed  you'd 
do  anything  with  it.  I  left  it  there  with  the  other 
paper  to  show  you  what  Dorales  had  been  up  to." 

Mrs.  Crump  laughed  suddenly. 

"Oh,  then  I  gave  ye  too  much  credit?  Never 
mind,  Thady " 

"You  don't  understand!"  In  his  voice  was  a 
harsh  note,  a  note  of  pain.  "Don't  you  realize 
what  you've  done?  That  money — why,  it's 
stolen!  It'll  have  to  go  back  to  Mackintavers! 
It  isn't  ours." 


A  PURPOSE  DISCOVERED  149 

For  the  first  time  in  many  years  Mehitabel 
Crump  was  shocked  into  immobile  silence.  She 
was  absolutely  petrified.  She  could  not  believe 
the  words  she  heard. 

"You  didn't  look  at  it  that  way,  of  course,'* 
added,  Shea  hastily.  Earnestness  grew  upon 
him,  and  deep  conviction.  "But  it's  true.  If  it 
were  ten  cents  or  ten  dollars,  it  might  not  mat- 
ter. But — ten  thousand  dollars!  It  must  go 
back." 

The  blue  eyes  of  Mrs.  Crump  hardened  like 
agates.  Her  mouth  clenched  grimly.  Her  wrin- 
kled features  tightened  into  fighting  lines.  She 
was  dumbly  amazed  that  the  magnitude  of  the 
sum  did  not  appeal  to  Thady  Shea's  cupidity;  but 
she  was  vigorously  and  fiercely  determined  that 
the  money  was  to  be  his.  It  was  not  for  herself 
that  she  wanted  it. 

When  she  made  answer,  it  was  with  a  virile 
insistence  that  drove  home  every  word  like  a 
blow. 

"You  got  no  call  to  insult  me,  Thady  Shea,  by 
callin'  me  a  thief;  mind  that!  Are  you  crazy  or 
just  plain  fool?  Mackintavers  an'  Dorales  comes 
along  thinking  to  trim  us  right  and  proper,  like 
they  done  by  other  poor  folks,  thinking  to  rob  a 
lone  widder  woman,  thinking  to  fool  you  into 
robbing  me.  That  there  check  for  ten  thousand 
was  the  jackpot.  Mackintavers  signed  it  as  such, 
knowin'  it  to  be  such,  stakin'  it  agin'  Number 


150  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

Sixteen  to  win  or  lose.  You  didn't  know  that  the 
prop'ty  was  recorded  in  your  name — but  he 
knew! 

"He  lost,  and  you  can  bet  he  ain't  said  nothing 
about  losing  them,  table  stakes!  What  call  you 
got  to  beef  about  winning  that  bet?  It's  plumb 
legal,  cashed  at  a  bank,  sanctified  by  Sandy  hisself 
over  the  phone.  You'd  be  a  fool  not  to  take 
money  after  you'd  won  it  in  a  game  like  that !  If 
ye  want " 

For  the  second  time  Mrs.  Crump  came  to  a 
decided  and  bewildered  halt. 

She  was  entirely  convinced  that  to  take  the 
money  was  legitimate;  she  was  convinced  that  it 
had  been  lawfully  won,  that  Thady  Shea  was 
actually  entitled  to  it.  She  had  chuckled  over  the 
coup  a  hundred  times.  She  had  chuckled  a 
hundred  times  over  the  grimly  delightful  irony  of 
cashing  that  check,  of  giving  Mackintavers  a 
counter-thrust  that  he  would  remember.  Yet, 
although  she  was  presenting  her  argument  with 
entire  conviction,  she  was  conscious  that  it  was 
like  presenting  her  argument  in  the  face  of  a  stone 
wall. 

Somehow  Thady  Shea  was  ignoring  her  argu- 
ment. Its  point  seemed  quite  lost  upon  him.  He 
stood  before  her,  flinty,  untouched,  unheeding. 
The  slight  glint  of  scorn  in  his  eye,  real  or  fancied, 
flicked  Mrs.  Crump  on  the  raw;  it  lashed  her  into 
real  and  unassumed  anger. 


A  PURPOSE  DISCOVERED  151 

"AH  that  is  quite  true,"  he  said.  In  his  manner 
Was  a  gentleness,  a  frightful  gentleness,  a  gentle- 
ness so  entire  and  calm  that  it  was  hideous.  One 
would  have  said  that  he  was  speaking  to  a  little 
child. 

"All  that  is  true,  Mrs.  Crump.  Of  course 
your  intentions  were  whole-souled  and  generous, 
and  from  your  viewpoint  the  action  was  justified. 
I  didn't  mean  to  call  you  a  thief,  heaven  knows!  I 
didn't  mean  any  such  thing. 

''But — the  money  was  to  be  given  in  exchange 
for  something.  The  exchange  did  not  take  place. 
Therefore,  to  keep  the  money  would  be  theft. 
That  is  the  way  I  look  at  it.  That  is  all  I  can  see 
to  it — all !     The  money  must  go  back." 

There  was  a  terrible  simplicity  in  the  man's 
face,  in  the  words  he  used,  in  the  argument  he 
used.  It  was  a  simplicity  which  nothing  could 
change.  It  was  a  simplicity  above  all  argument 
or  question.  It  was  a  simplicity  that  stood  up 
like  a  gray  naked  rock.  Against  this  implacable 
front  ^Irs,  Crump  was  impotent  and  knew 
it. 

Thady  Shea  reached  out  and  took  the  check 
book  from  her  hand.  He  opened  it.  He  stripped 
one  check  from  the  book  and  placed  this  check  in 
his  pocket.  Then  he  took  the  check  book,  tore  it 
across,  and  flung  the  pieces  away.  He  did  it 
casually,  impatiently,  carelessly. 

Now,  to  tear  a  check  book  across  is  not  an  easy 


152  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

thing.  To  do  it  carelessly,  casually,  is  a  most 
unusual  and  significant  thing.  It  jerked  at 
Mrs.  Crump's  attention.  She  wondered  just  how 
strong  Thady  Shea  was.  Yet,  the  thought  that 
the  one  check  in  Shea's  pocket  was  destined  for 
Mackintavers  fired  the  anger  within  her,  and 
fanned  the  flame.  She  could  deal  gently,  pity- 
ingly, with  a  weak  man.  With  a  strong  man, 
strong  as  Thady  Shea  was  strong,  she  had  but  one 
argument. 

"I'll  write  out  that  check "  began  Shea. 

"You're  a  coward!"  said  Mrs.  Crump,  savagely. 
She  knew  the  words  were  fearfully  unjust,  but  they 
rose  within  her  and  she  said  them.  The  thought 
that  Mackintavers  would  deem  her  weak  and  silly 
enough  to  return  that  money  maddened  her. 
"  You're  a  coward ! " 

She  leaned  forward  and  struck  him  in  the 
mouth.  She  struck  a  man's  blow,  a  full,  hard- 
fisted,  strong  blow,  a  blow  that  might  have  felled 
another  man  than  Thady  Shea.  Under  it  he 
reeled.  Then  he  came  upright  and  stood  motion- 
less, looking  at  her.  He  did  not  speak.  Slowly 
he  lifted  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  and  his  eyes 
shifted  to  the  red  smear  upon  his  hand.  Then  his 
gaze  went  again  to  her  face. 

Under  his  look,  Mrs.  Crump  shivered  a  little. 
The  anger  went  out  of  her  suddenly  and  utterly. 
Before  his  calm,  hurt  strength  she  recoiled.  Her 
brittle,  false  hardness  was  broken  and  shattered. 


A  PURPOSE  DISCOVERED  153 

He  did  not  speak,  and  his  silence  frightened  her. 
She  went  to  pieces. 

"Thady!"  The  words  came  from  her  in  a 
breath,  a  groan.  Her  burning  blue  eyes  were  gone 
dull  and  lifeless,  dumb  with  misery,  as  she  realized 
what  she  had  just  done.  "Oh,  Thady!  I — 
Heaven  forgive  me,  Thady,  I  didn't  mean  to  do 
it.     I  wanted  you  to  have  that  money." 

"I  wonder  if  you  really  think  I'm  a  coward?" 
said  Shea,  curiously  calm.  "I  am  one,  of  course, 
but  I  don't  see  how  a  desire  for  justice  can  be 
cowardly." 

"I  don't!"  she  burst  forth  impetuously,  passion- 
ately. "Thady,  I'm  sorry — I  never  meant  it;  it 
didn't  come  from  the  heart,  Thady!  I'm  an  old 
fool  of  a  woman,  that's  what  I  am.  An  old  fool 
of  a  woman!  Don't  look  at  me  that  way;  I  tell  ye 
I  can't  stand  it — it's  awful!  I'm  sorry  for  it, 
bitter  sorry." 

"I'm  sorry,  too,"  said  Shea,  simply.  "Listen  to 
me,  now.  You've  given  me  something  real;  a 
purpose.  Maybe  Ross  was  right.  Maybe  I  had 
to  wait  till  it  came  to  me.  Now  I'm  going  to  find 
Mackint avers  and  give  him  his  money,  make 
things  right.  I  may  be  a  coward  in  physical 
things,  but " 

"Don't  talk  that  way!"  she  broke  in,  harshly. 
"Thady,  I'm  sorry.  Come  back  to  the  mine  with 
me;  forget  this  foolishness.  I'm  a  fool  of  an  old 
woman,  that's  all.     I  need  ye  at  the  mine,  Thady." 


154  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

He  smiled  a  little.  "Do  you  really  mean  it, 
Mrs.  Crump?  May  I  come  back — after  I  have 
seen  Mackintavers?  " 

"Come  now!  Don't  go  chasing  off  like  a 
dratted  mule.     Come  back  with  me  now!" 

"No."  Shea  looked  away  from  her.  He  mo- 
tioned toward  the  horses,  their  tails  switching  in 
the  arrogant  sunlight.  He  motioned  toward  the 
half -plowed  field.  "I'll  finish  this  job  first. 
Then,  in  a  few  days,  I'll  go  and  see  Mackintavers. 
You  see?  I  have  to  do  it.  The  purpose  has  come 
to  me;  maybe  it'll  lead  into  something  else.  I 
don't  know.  After  that,  I'll  come  back  to  Number 
Sixteen  and  go  to  work,  if  you  still  want 
me." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  humbly.  "I'll  need  ye,  Thady. 
I'm  sorry  ye  won't  come  now." 

She  turned  from  him  and  walked  down  the 
canon.  Around  the  bend,  out  of  Shea's  sight,  she 
leaned  against  a  bowlder.  She  was  a  woman,  and 
God  has  given  tears  to  women.  Great  sobs  shook 
her  for  the  first  time  in  years.  Passionate  sobs 
were  they,  holding  the  pent-up  emotion  of  a  deep 
spirit  that  had  broken  through  its  mask  of  cynic 
harshness. 

Presently  Mrs.  Crump  recalled  that,  although 
she  was  beyond  the  sight  of  Thady  Shea,  she  was 
in  full  view  of  the  distant  shack.  Muttering  that 
she  was  a  dratted  old  fool,  she  wiped  her  eyes. 
She  tucked  in  loosened  wisps  of  hair  about  the 


A  PURPOSE  DISCOVERED  155 

edge  of  her  bonnet.  She  pulled  her  bonnet 
straight  and  started  for  the  dust-white  flivver, 
beyond  the  shack. 

Mrs.  Crump  found  Fred  Ross  cheerfully 
whistling  "Silver  Threads  Among  the  Gold"  and 
finishing    his    house-cleaning. 

"That  there  Thady  Shea,"  she  stated,  harshly, 
"is  the  most  amazing  human  critter  I've  ever  run 
up  against!" 

Ross  grinned  amiably.     "Meaning,  ma'am?" 

"Meaning  you  can  figger  it  out  for  yourself. 
Adios!" 

"Hold  on,  ma'am.  Ain't  you  goin'  to  set  a 
while?" 

"I  am  not.  I  got  work  to  do.  So  long,  and 
good  luck  to  ye!" 

Ross  insisted  upon  cranking  the  dust-white 
flivver,   and  she  departed  with  no  more  words. 

An  hour  later  Thady  Shea  brought  in  the 
horses,  and  put  them  up  for  the  night.  He  came 
into  the  house  and  helped  Ross  get  supper.  He 
commented  on  the  house-cleaning  with  admiration. 
He  discussed,  from  an  amateur's  standpoint, 
fencing  the  upper  end  of  the  canon  against  the 
proposed  flock  of  sheep.  He  seemed  to  enjoy  his 
supper  hugely. 

The  meal  over,  both  men  lounged  outside, 
smoking  and  watching  the  crimsoned  peaks  that 
overhung  them. 

"Mrs.  Crump."  observed  Shea  at  last,  "is  the 


156  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

most  generous,  whole-souled  woman  I  ever  knew. 
She's  a  wonder,  Ross ! " 

"She  is,"  assented  the  rancher,  dryly.  "I 
suppose  you're  goin'  to  leave  me?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Shea,  gravely,  "After  that  upper 
flat  is  plowed." 

"Tell  you  what.  Wait  till  Sunday.  I'm  goin' 
to  Magdalena  then,  to  see  a  lady  friend.  Take 
ye  in  the  car  if  you're  goin'  that  way.  Then  I'll 
pay  you — got  to  give  you  something  for  the  work, 
Shea.     So  go  to  Magdalena  with  me  Sunday." 

"Mackint avers'  ranch  lies  over  there,  doesn't 
it?" 

"North.     Yes." 

"All  right.     That'll  suit  me." 


CHAPTER  XH 

THE   STONE   GODS   VANISH 

THE  loss  of  ten  thousand  dollars  was  not  a 
negligible  matter,  even  to  Sandy  Mackin- 
tavers,  who  was  accustomed  to  gambling  on 
a  large  scale.  Like  a  good  gamester,  he  swallowed 
the  bitter  pill  and  said  nothing.  However,  the  loss 
left  a  scar  which,  contrary  to  the  custom  of  scars, 
grew  more  red  and  angry  with  each  passing  week. 
The  realization  that  he  had  been  outwitted  and 
outgamed  by  the  despised  Mehitabel  Crump  was 
bad  enough;  the  actual  monetary  loss  made  itself 
more  gradually  felt.  However,  Mackintavers 
knew  that  he  would  recoup  tenfold  once  his  hands 
gripped  Number  Sixteen.  So,  by  means  of 
various  reports  from  Eastern  sources,  he  dis- 
covered that  Coravel  Tio,  the  curio  dealer  of 
Sante  Fe,  was  negotiating  for  the  sale  of  the  prop- 
erty, and  held  an  interest  in  the  mine.  Over  this, 
Mackintavers  laughed  long  and  loud — and  per- 
fected his  plans  for  taking  over  Number  Sixteen. 

In  the  meantime,  he  gave  his  attention  to  the 
seven  stone  gods  and  his  scientific  reputation. 

His   ranch    house    was    a   roomy,    comfortable 
place;  one  half  was  inhabited  by  Old  Man  Durfee, 

157 


158  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

who  ran  the  ranch,  and  the  other  half  was  in- 
habited by  Sandy  and  his  frequent  guests.  At  the 
present  moment  he  had  three  guests  besides  Abel 
Dorales.  Two  were  withered,  wrinkled  old  bucks 
from  the  Cochiti  pueblo,  and  these  were  quartered 
in  the  bunk  house  a  half  mile  distant,  by  the 
corrals.  The  third  was  the  eminent  archaeologist 
previously  mentioned,  who  had  arrived  to  witness 
the  establishment  of  Sandy  as  a  scientist. 

"To-morrow  is  the  big  day,  eh?"  Sandy  Mack- 
intavers  spread  his  square  bulk  to  the  blaze  in  the 
big  library  fireplace,  and  surveyed  his  scientific 
guest  with  complacent  expectation.  "Dorales  is 
goin'  to  bring  them  bucks  up  here.  We'll  have  the 
little  gods  all  ready,  then  we'll  see  what  happens." 

He  glanced  at  the  wide  mantel  whereon  sat  seven 
worn  stone  images,  grinning  widely  over  the  room. 

"You've  not  coached  them,  of  course?"  de- 
manded the  wary  scientist.  "If  they  had  an 
inkling  of  what  you  wanted,  they'd  say  anything 
to  please  you." 

"Huhi"  snorted  Mackintavers  with  honest 
indignation.  "I  should  say  not!  Surprise  is  the 
thing,  professor.  Aiblins,  now,  I'll  explain  to  ye 
the  system  we've  invented  to  make  these  Cochiti 
bucks  talk — but  first,  take  a  look  at  this.  I'm 
coming  fast,  eh?  Aiblins,  in  another  year  or  two 
I'll  be  having  a  world-wide  reputation,  eh?  Just 
look  at  this,  now." 

He  handed  the  scientist  a  letter.     Now,  Mackin- 


THE  STONE  GODS  VANISH         159 

tavers  himself  could  not  read  that  letter;  but  it  had 
been  translated  for  him,  and  he  was  inordinately 
proud  of  it. 

The  scientist  glanced  at  the  letter-head  above,  a 
large  and  flaunting  letterhead  of  the  Socieie 
Academique,  and  below,  in  very  small  letters,  the 
remainder  of  the  legend:  d'ethnologie  Amerique. 
In  other  words,  not  particularly  good  French, 
denoting  the  Academic  Society  of  American 
Ethnology,  of  Paris. 

The  eminent  scientist  repressed  the  smile  that 
rose  to  his  lips.  It  was  obvious  that  Sandy, 
keenly  canny  in  most  things,  was  highly  susceptible 
to  this  sort  of  flattery. 

"I'm  sending  for  their  gold  medal,"  went  on  the 
speaker.  "  Costs  about  fifteen  bucks,  but  I  guess 
it'll  be  worth  it  when  the  papers  write  me  up,  eh? 
They  sent  along  an  engraved  parchment  to  show 
I'm  a  member.  Some  day  I'll  go  to  Paris  and 
visit  'em." 

The  eminent  scientist,  who  knew  all  the  ins  and 
outs  of  that  game,  did  not  spoil  poor  Sandy's 
dream  by  any  intrusion  of  cold  and  hard  facts. 
Instead,  he  reflected  to  himself  upon  the  odd 
twists  and  quirks  of  character,  which  would  bring 
such  a  man  as  Sandy  Mackintavers  into  the  toils 
of  a  vain  ambition,  and  into  the  nets  of  smooth 
sharpers  who  knew  well  how  to  flatter  the  x\meri- 
can  ignoramus  into  parting  with  his  dollars. 

Cordial  and  warm  was  Sandy  Mackintavers  that 


160  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

evening,  expanding  under  the  genial  thought  of 
what  was  to  happen  on  the  morrow,  and  making 
himself  a  wondrous  fine  host.  He  told  how  Abel 
Dorales  had  secured  an  interpreter,  had  approached 
two  withered,  wrinkled  old  Cochiti  bucks  who 
loved  round  silver  dollars,  and  had  brought  them 
here  upon  specious  pretexts.  He  told  how,  on  the 
following  morning,  those  two  withered,  wrinkled 
Cochiti  bucks  were  to  be  left  for  an  hour  in  this 
same  room,  alone  with  the  seven  stone  gods  on  the 
mantel  and  a  whiskey  bottle  on  the  table;  and  he 
told  how  a  dictagraph,  already  concealed  and  in 
readiness,  would  be  waiting  for  them. 

Being  presumably  alone,  being  mellowed  by  one 
or  two  stolen  drinks,  being  in  the  amazing  presence 
of  those  seven  stone  gods,  the  two  withered, 
wrinkled  old  Cochiti  bucks  would  most  unques- 
tionably talk  to  each  other  in  their  own  language. 
Later,  the  dictagraph  record  could  be  translated. 

It  never  occurred  to  Sandy  that  the  entire 
Cochiti  pueblo  might  have  been  aware  that  he 
was  in  possession  of  these  seven  stone  gods  almost 
from  the  very  day  he  obtained  them.  Sandy  had 
picked  up  some  knowledge  about  the  relics  of 
dead  redskins;  but  he  had  a  good  deal  to  learn 
about  Indians  in  the  flesh. 

So  the  morning  came — the  morning  that  was  to 
bring  about  the  satisfaction  of  ambition.  Abel 
Dorales  left  the  breakfast  table  in  order  to  bring 
the  two  withered,   wrinkled  old   Cochiti  bucks. 


THE  STONE  GODS  VANISH         161 

Mackintavers  drew  the  eminent  scientist  into  the 
library  for  a  last  look  at  the  preparations — ah! 

"It  might  be  an  excellent  idea,"  said  the 
professor,  dryly,  "to  set  your  stone  gods  in  place, 
Mr.  Mackintavers." 

"Aiblins,  yes!"  And  Mackintavers  stared 
blankly  at  the  mantel.  "Where  the  devil  have 
they  gone?     They  were  here  last  night!" 

That  the  seven  stone  gods  had  sat,  grinning, 
upon  the  mantel  only  the  evening  previous,  was 
true;  but  they  were  not  on  the  mantel  now.  They 
were  not  in  the  room.  They  were  not  in  the  ranch 
house  at  all! 

Curious  to  incoherence,  suspecting  everyone 
around  him,  Sandy  Mackintavers  sought  an 
explanation.  He  obtained  none.  The  two 
wrinkled,  withered  old  bucks  had  been  in  the  bunk 
house  all  night.  Every  man  about  the  place 
established  a  convincing  alibi. 

Every  building  upon  the  place  was  searched  from 
ground  to  rafters,  without  avail.  Noon  came,  and 
Mackintavers  had  relapsed  into  a  dour,  grim  rage. 
At  this  juncture,  the  old  Chinaman  who  served  as 
cook  related  that,  while  emptying  the  slops  the 
previous  evening,  he  had  seen  a  strange  horse- 
man down  near  the  creek.  He  could  give  no  de- 
scription. 

"Stolen!"  howled  Sandy,  beside  himself  with 
fury.     "  Out  and  after  him ! " 

Now  ensued  confusion  great  and  dire.     Every 


162  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

man  on  the  ranch,  except  the  cook  and  Abel 
Dorales  and  the  eminent  scientist,  shared  the 
general  exodus.  Dorales  openly  expressed  pro- 
found disgust  for  gods,  for  Mackintavers,  and  for 
the  whole  accursed  business;  having  assumed 
responsibility  for  the  safe  return  of  the  two 
wrinkled,  withered  old  Cochiti  bucks,  he  loaded 
them  into  the  ranch  flivver  and  set  out  for  Socorro 
and  the  main  line  of  the  railroad.  Sandy  and  Old 
Man  Durfee  were  gone  with  the  big  car. 

The  professor,  left  alone,  secured  a  volume  of 
scientific  reports  and  settled  himself  in  comfort  on 
the  wide,  screened  veranda.  The  noon  meal  had 
not  been  pleasant.  The  afternoon  was  hot  and 
dusty.     Presently  the  scientific  gentleman  slept. 

Just  when  his  slumbers  had  deepened  into 
snoring  somnolence,  the  archaeologist  was  aroused 
by  a  sonorous  bass  voice  that  boomed  like  a  bell. 
Startled,  he  sat  up.  He  first  visualized  a  buck- 
board  close  at  hand,  within  a  dozen  feet  of  the 
veranda — a  strange  thing,  for  he  well  knew  that 
natives  of  the  country  would  have  driven  their 
teams  to  the  corrals.  Upon  the  seat  of  the  buck- 
board  was  a  suitcase. 

It  was  a  small  wicker  suitcase,  a  battered  little 
yellow  suitcase  with  loose  ends  of  wicker  torn  and 
protrmdihg  from  its  faded  surface;  it  was  a  suit- 
case manifestly  third  or  fourth-hand,  cheap  in  the 
first  place,  and  now  absolutely  contemptible.  It 
looked  more  like  a  lunch  basket  than  a  suitcase. 


THE  STONE  GODS  VANISH         163 

Then  the  professor  was  aware  of  a  tall  man,  a 
large,  shaggy -bearded  man,  who  stood  at  the 
screen  door  of  the  veranda  and  spoke  in  sonorous 
accents. 

"Sir,  it  grieves  me  thus  to  break  your  slumber, 
but  I  am  searching  with  such  power  as  lies  within 
my  soul  for  one  named  Mackintavers.  I  charge 
you,  if  you  be  fair  Scotia's  son  and  him  whom  I  do 
seek,  declare  yourself ! " 

"Bless  my  soul!"  exclaimed  the  scientist. 
"Do  I  gather  that  you  are  looking  for  Mr.  Mack- 
intavers?" 

"Such  indeed  are  my  intent  and  purpose," 
declaimed  Thady  Shea. 

"He's  gone.  Everyone's  gone."  The  profes- 
sor inspected  this  specimen  of  humanity  with 
swiftly  growing  interest.  "They'll  be  back  pres- 
ently; things  are  a  bit  upset.  Won't  you  come  in? 
Better  take  your  team  over  to  the  corrals." 

The  scientist  rose  and  introduced  himself 
Thady  Shea  solemnly  gave  his  abbreviated  cogno- 
men and  stated  that,  since  he  had  hired  the  team 
at  Magdalena  and  expected  to  return  almost  at 
once,  the  horses  could  stay  where  they  were.  He 
then  entered  the  screen  veranda,  shook  hands,  and 
with  a  sigh  sat  himself  down. 

Mackintavers  gone!  It  upset  all  his  calcula- 
tions. However,  he  soon  found  himself  engaged  in 
sprightly  discourse. 

Lemonade    and    cigars    made    an    incongruous 


164  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

accompaniment.  This  entire  situation,  in  fact, 
was  the  most  incongruous  the  professor  had  ever 
experienced.  He  could  not  make  out  whether 
Thady  Shea  were  here  as  a  guest  or  as  an 
enemy,  as  a  chance  caller,  or  as  a  business  ac- 
quaintance. Thady  Shea  kept  a  tight  mouth  on 
some  things. 

"You'd  better  take  those  horses  into  the  shade," 
reiterated  the  professor  at  length.  "And  that 
suitcase  of  yours — why,  the  sun  will  broil  it!" 

Thady  Shea  smiled  slightly. 

"I  perceive  dust  upon  the  horizon,"  he  said, 
gesturing  toward  the  road,  "which  doth  to  my 
mind  betoken  the  speedy  return  of  our  host,  and 
the  conclusion  of  my  business.  As  for  the  suit- 
case, sir,  therein  lie  food  for  musing!" 

"What's  in  it  then?"  The  professor  chuckled. 
"A  set  of  Shakespeare?" 

"Nay,  sir,  of  its  contents  I  am  ignorant." 

Thady  Shea  eyed  the  approaching  dust  cloud, 
which  might  give  birth  either  to  Mackintavers  or 
to  Abel  Dorales.  In  his  own  fashion,  he  proceeded 
to  tell  his  companion  how  he  had  acquired  that 
suitcase,  two  hours  previously,  and  while  on  his 
way  here. 

He  had  encountered  a  horse,  saddled  and  bridled 
and  still  alive,  lying  in  the  road  with  a  broken 
leg.  Of  the  rider,  there  had  been  no  sign.  A 
little  distance  farther  on  Shea  had  come  upon 
this  battered  little    suitcase   lying  in   the  dust. 


THE  STONE  GODS  VANISH         165 

Whether  the  suitcase  appertained  to  the  vanished 
horseman  could  not  be  told.  There  had  been 
some  sort  of  accident,  yet  there  was  no  human 
being  in  evidence.  All  this  upon  the  main  high- 
way. 

"Did  you  notice  the  brand  on  the  animal,  or 
anything  which  might  identify  it?"  queried  the 
professor,  who  was  well  versed  in  the  ways  of  the 
country. 

Thady  Shea  had  learned  enough,  also,  to  notice 
a  few  such  things.  The  brand  was  a  queer  mark, 
a  queer  zig-zag  which  to  him  meant  nothing. 
The  animal's  saddle  blanket  had  been  an  Indian 
rug,  woven  for  such  use.  The  bridle  had  also  been 
woven.  Upon  the  suitcase,  however,  there  was 
no  mark  of  ownership. 

"H'm!  Sounds  like  a  Navaho  brand,"  com- 
mented the  professor,  sagely. 

At  this  point,  Thady  Shea  rose  and  abruptly 
closed  the  discussion.  The  approaching  auto- 
mobile had  drawn  up. 

From  the  car  alighted  Sandy  Mackintavers, 
who  stood  for  a  moment  staring  at  the  buckboard; 
Old  Man  Durfee  went  on  with  the  car  to  the 
garage,  in  the  rear  of  the  ranch  house.  Thady 
Shea  did  not  need  the  professor's  vouchsafed 
admonition  to  know  who  this  square-hewn  man 
was,  this  man  with  the  square  jaw  and  mouth  and 
figure,  this  man  who  turned  from  the  buckboard 
and  came  dourly  up  to  the  veranda. 


166  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

"Who's  here?"  Mackintavers  stood  in  the 
screen  doorway. 

"You're  Mr.  Mackintavers?"  Theatricalisms 
fell  away  from  Thady  Shea.  He  fumbled  in  his 
pocket.  He  produced  the  check  which  he  had 
previously  filled  out.  He  extended  it.  "This 
belongs  to  you,  I  think.  There  was  some  mistake 
in  the  matter.  Your  check  was  cashed  through  a 
misapprehension . ' ' 

Mackintavers  swept  Thady  Shea  with  keen, 
puzzled  eyes;  then  he  glanced  at  the  check. 

His  square  mouth  contracted  slightly  at  the 
corners.  Otherwise,  not  a  muscle  moved  in  his 
face.  After  an  instant  he  folded  the  check  and 
glanced  up  at  the  professor. 

"No  luck  with  the  thief,"  he  said,  curtly. 
"That  is,  unless  some  of  the  boys  bring  in  news. 
There  was  an  accident  on  the  Magdalena  trail  this 
morning — a  fool  Navaho  buck  was  hit  by  the 
flivver  from  Doniphan's  ranch.  Knocked  him 
and  his  cayuse  to  glory.  I  thought  for  a  time  he 
was  our  man,  but  telephoned  into  town  from 
Doniphan's  and  found  otherwise.  Took  a  look 
at  the  horse  to  make  sure.     Nothing  doing." 

His  eyes  went  back  to  Thady  Shea.  He  held 
open  the  door  and  gestured. 

"You're  Shea,  eh?  Come  on  into  the  office, 
will  you?     Excuse  me,  professor." 

Shea  followed  his  enemy  host  into  the  house,  and 
into  a  small  room  which  served  Mackintavers  as 


THE  STONE  GODS  VANISH  167 

office  and  study.  Sandy  dropped  into  a  chair, 
motioned  Shea  to  another,  and  set  out  a  box  of 
cigars. 

This  greeting  left  Thady  Shea  entirely  at  sea. 
Mackintavers  did  not  seem  to  be  infuriated;  he 
seemed  to  understand  perfectly  all  about  the 
check.  He  seemed  alert,  precise,  cold-blooded,  as 
though  this  were  some  ordinary  business  deal. 

"So  you're  Shea!"  he  repeated.  "Aiblins, 
now — ye  look  it.     Friend  o'  Mrs.  Crump,  eh?" 

"I  am."  Thady  Shea  began  to  feel  sorry  that 
he  had  come  inside. 

"How  come  you're  turning  back  that  money? 
The  old  lady  feelin'  her  conscience?" 

"I  told  you,  sir,  that  there  had  been  an  error. 
When  the  mistake  was  brought  to  my  attention,  I 
posted  straightway  hither,  seeking  you;  the  money 
was  not  mine  to  store  away;  reparation  was 
incumbent  on  me." 

''What  the  hell!"  muttered  Sandy,  with  a  touch 
of  wonder. 

Mackintavers  knew  men.  He  could  read  men 
at  a  glance,  but  Thady  Shea  was  slightly  beyond 
his  visual  acuity.  None  the  less,  he  came  fairly 
close  to  the  mark  in  that  he  adjudged  Shea  to  be 
of  a  simple  and  wonderful  honesty,  a  man  of 
fundamental  virtue.  Sandy  took  for  granted  that 
Thady  Shea  was  mentally  unbalanced;  a  theory 
which  would  explain  this  amazing  refund,  and  also 
the  wild  stories  which  were  current  about  the  man. 


168  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

"I  hear  you  own  that  claim  Mrs.  Crump  is 
workin',  Shea." 

"No.  It  belongs  to  her."  Thady  Shea  rose 
to  his  feet.     "We  need  not  prolong  this " 

"Oh,  don't  be  in  a  rush!"  soothed  Mackin- 
tavers,  cordially.  "Now,  I'll  have  your  team 
attended  to,  and  you'd  better  stay  overnight  with 
us,  eh?  We'll  have  a  talk,  and  we'll  get  squared 
up  on  the  trouble  between  you  and  Dorales " 

Thady  Shea  looked  down  at  him.  Under  those 
eyes  Mackintavers  fell  silent. 

"Sir,  you  are  an  infernal  villain,"  said  Thady 
Shea  calmly.  "I  want  none  of  your  hospitality. 
There  is  no  trouble  whatever,  save  in  your  own 
greed  and  covetous  apacity.  You  are  an  arrant 
rogue,  a  caitiff  vile;  there  can  be  naught  between 
us.     Sir,  farewell ! " 

Thady  Shea  strode  from  the  room  and  slammed 
the  door  after  him. 

Sandy  Mackintavers  sat  motionless,  completely 
astounded  by  this  outburst.  He  looked  down  at 
the  check  in  his  hand,  then  looked  out  the  window; 
he  could  see  Thady  Shea  climbing  into  the  buck- 
board  and  driving  off. 

"Aiblins,  yes;  the  man's  mad!"  he  reflected. 
A  slow  chuckle  came  to  his  lips.  "And  to  think 
I  never  so  much  as  said  thank'ee!  If  the  check's 
good,  now — h'm!  Better  find  out  about  it.  A 
fool,  that's  what  the  fellow  is.  A  loose-brained 
fool." 


THE  STONE  GODS  VANISH         169 

He  sought  the  telephone  and  spoke  with  the 
Silver  City  bank.     The  check  was  good. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  came  the  first  word  of  the 
actual  thief  who  had  made  off  with  the  seven 
stone  gods.  One  of  the  men  brought  in  a  report 
that  he  had  found  signs  of  a  camp  on  the  creek 
a  mile  distant.  Mackintavers  and  Old  Man 
Durfee  went  out  to  investigate.  They  were  good 
at  reading  signs;  they  discovered  that  a  man  had 
spent  the  previous  night  in  this  spot,  and  that  he 
had  presumably  been  an  Indian.  The  tracks  of 
his  unshod  horse  showed  a  cracked  off  hind  hoof. 
A  few  tiny  shreds  of  gray  wool  showed  where  his 
saddle  blanket  had  been  laid. 

Over  the  supper  table  that  evening  Sandy  Mack- 
intavers recounted  these  results  to  the  archaeologist. 
Abel  Dorales  had  not  yet  returned  from  Socorro. 

"The  gods  are  gone,  professor,"  he  stated, 
disconsolately.  "Clean  gone!  Aye.  D'ye  see, 
the  thief,  that  fellow  camped  by  the  creek,  was  the 
same  Indian  who  got  wiped  out  by  Doniphan's 
flivver  this  morning!  The  same,  aye.  That 
saddle  blanket  was  gray,  and  that  horse  had  the 
off  hind  foot  cracked.  Aye.  The  Navaho  dog 
was  the  thief.  And  now  the  gods  are  clean  gone ! 
There  was  no  sign  of  'em  about  the  horse,  and  the 
man  himself  had  nothing.  But  he  took  'em, 
right  enough." 

The  professor  glanced  up,  roused  from  his 
abstraction. 


170  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

"That's  queer!"  he  ejaculated.  Excitement 
rapidly  grew  upon  him.  "Look  here,  Mackin- 
tavers !  The  man  who  was  here  this  afternoon,  the 
man  Shea — did  you  notice  that  queer  little  grip  on 
his  buckboard?  He  told  me  he  had  picked  up  that 
grip  near  the  crippled  horse,  and  he  did  not  know 
what  was  in  it!" 

Just  then  Abel  Dorales  returned,  to  find  that 
Thady  Shea  had  come  and  gone. 

Thirty  minutes  later  Mackintavers  and  Dorales 
were  on  their  way  to  Magdalena  in  the  big  car; 
Mackintavers  was  after  the  seven  stone  gods,  and 
Dorales  was  after  Thady  Shea. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THADY   SHEA    STARTS   HOME 

IN  THE  early  evening  Thady  Shea  reached 
Magdalena.  He  turned  in  his  team  and 
buckboard  to  the  livery  stable,  paid  for  its  use 
from  the  money  given  him  by  Fred  Ross,  and  with 
the  little  suitcase  in  his  hand  left  the  stable  office. 
The  first  person  he  encountered  was  Fred  Ross. 

"Hello!"  said  Ross,  grinning.  "Thought  may- 
be you'd  show  up  this  evenin',  so  I  hung  around. 
How's  tricks?" 

"Fine,"  answered  Shea,  delightedly.  "I'm 
hungry." 

"So'm  I.  Let's  eat.  I  got  a  friend  waitin'  to 
meet  ye — he's  leavin'  to-night." 

Shea  gladly  followed  to  the  Hotel  Aragon.  He 
was  to-night  blissfully  happy.  For*  the  first  time 
in  years  he  felt  like  a  boy.  It  was  a\  though  the 
reparation  made  to  Mackintavers,  and  the  brief 
but  emphatic  expression  of  his  own,  mind  to 
Mackintavers,  had  wiped  away  all  past-  tilings. 
Atonement  was  over  and  done  with.  He  was  free 
to  go  where  he  would. 

From  one  of  the  rocking-chairs  in  the  long, 
narrow  lobby  of  the  hotel  arose  a  man  of  girth  and 

171 


172  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

twinkling  of  eye,  who  came  to  meet  them.  Him 
Ross  briefly  introduced  as  Bill  Murray,  and  urged 
haste  in  reaching  the  dining  room.  Thady  Shea 
left  the  battered  little  yellow  suitcase  on  the  hat 
rack  beside  the  dining-room  doors,  which  were 
just  about  to  close,  and  the  three  men  hastily 
entered  the  nearly  empty  room. 

Fred  Ross  had  known  nothing  definite  about 
Thady  Shea's  business  with  Mackintavers,  but 
possibly  he  had  conjectured  a  good  deal.  He  was 
plainly  much  relieved  to  see  his  friend  safely  back. 

"Bill's  running  a  newspaper  over  to  St.  Johns," 
he  confided,  when  the  meal  was  under  way. 
"He'd  heard  about  you,  Shea,  and  was  kind  o'  set 
on  meeting  you.  Wants  to  get  the  straight  o' 
that  yarn  about  you  and  Dorales.  He  got  laid  up 
here  with  a  busted  steering  gear,  and  aimed  to  go 
home  to-day,  but  waited  over.  Now  he's  goin' 
back  to-night,  so  he  says.  It  sure  beats  all  how  a 
fellow  gets  in  a  hell  of  a  hurry  just  when  other 
folks  want  him  to  loaf  around  a  spell!" 

Murray  tipped  Thady  Shea  a  jovial  wink. 

"Fred  ain't  lonesome,  much,"  he  said,  wheezily. 
"Got  a  girl  here.  Fred  reckons  that  the  more  he 
talks  about  stay  in',  the  more  I'll  be  set  on  goin' — 
which  is  the  same  true.  Human  nature  is  ornery 
as  the  devil,  ain't  it  now?  Well,  I  s'pose  you 
ain't  picked  up  any  news  to-day,  Shea?" 

"I  have,  sir,"  intoned  Thady,  "an  item  of 
importance.     A    striped    Indian,    of    name    un- 


THADY  SHEA  STARTS  HOME       173 

known,  was  overcome  by  dire  fatality  this  morn. 
Upon  the  road  Death  ambushed  him,  and  maimed 
his  faithful  steed,  and  laid  him  low.  An  auto- 
mobile— mark  the  irony! — became  the  instrument 
of  darkling  fate,  and  brought  to  this  poor  aborigine 
the  end  of  all  things,  and  the  close  of  life." 

Bill  Murray  stared  open-mouthed,  as  did  most 
people  who  heard  Thady 's  sonorously  rolling  ac- 
cents for  the  first  time.  Then  he  emitted  a 
wheezy  chuckle. 

"Oh!  You  mean  the  Injun  buck  that  got 
straddled  by  Doniphan's  flivver!  Heard  all  about 
him  to-day.  He's  layin'  over  to  the  funeral 
parlours  now.  Some  of  his  tribe's  in  town,  and 
they  made  Doniphan  give  him  a  real  burial.  Joke 
on  Doniphan,  ain't  it?" 

"And,"  pursued  Thady,  "at  Mackintavers' 
ranch  this  afternoon  I  gathered  there  had  been  a 
robbery.  What  worldly  pelf  was  taken,  I  know 
not,  but  dread  cqnfusion  reigned  upon  the  place." 

"Gosh!"  Bill  Murray  started  up  from  his 
chair.  "Say — that's  red-hot  news,  Shea!  Don't 
tell  any  one  else  around  here.  I'll  run  out  and 
phone  the  ranch.  Got  to  run  off  my  paper  to- 
morrow night;  I'll  pull  some  o'  that  plate* off  the 
front  page  and  run  this  in  a  box.  Whee !  Back  in 
a  minute!" 

Bill  Murray  departed  like  a  genial  cyclone. 

Now  Thady  Shea  told  about  that  battered  little 
suitcase.     He  was  not  sure  what  should  be  done 


174  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

with  the  thing,  and  asked  the  advice  of  Fred  Ross. 
He  had  not  opened  the  suitcase;  ever  since  finding 
it,  he  had  been  on  the  go.  Besides,  the  suitcase 
was  locked,  and  Thady  hesitated  to  smash  it 
open. 

"Likely  it  was  bounced  off  some  ranch  car  or 
buckboard,"  deduced  Ross.  "Belong  to  that 
dead  Injun?  No  chance.  None  whatever!  You 
never  seen  an  Injun  with  one  o'  them  things,  and 
anyhow,  no  Injun  riding  hossback  would  tote  a 
suitcase  along.  No,  none  whatever!  And  that 
grip  wasn't  made  to  tie  on  a  saddle,  neither. 
Reckon  you'd  better  look  inside,  and  if  there  ain't 
any  indication  of  the  owner,  then  read  the  papers 
for  an  ad.  Well,  what  ye  going  to  do?  Will  ye 
come  back  to  the  ranch  with  me?" 

Thady  Shea  did  not  know  what  he  wanted  to  do. 
He  wondered  if  he  had  fulfilled  his  extremely  vague 
ideas  of  wandering  and  making  good  in  the  world. 
In  a  sense,  he  had  done  so.  He  realized  it  now, 
just  as  he  realized  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  view 
one's  own  immediate  self  and  environment  with 
any  degree  of  cool  detachment. 

As  to  Mackintavers,  as  to  any  peril  which  he 
himself  might  bring  upon  Mrs.  Crump,  Thady 
Shea  had  long  since  abandoned  that  nebulous  idea. 
He  had  met  Mackintavers,  and  feared  him  no 
longer.     Of  Dorales  he  did  not  think  particularly. 

He  had  no  great  desire  to  return  to  the  Ross 
ranch.     Try  as  he  would,  he  could  see  no  purpose 


THADY  SHEA  STARTS  HOME       175 

ahead  of  him  save  in  the  one  place — Number 
Sixteen.  All  that  held  him  back  was  that  strange 
feeling  in  his  soul,  a  feeling  that  had  been  there 
twenty  years  and  more;  a  feeling  as  though  some- 
thing were  knotted  somewhere  about  his  soul, 
stifling  him.  What  use  to  return  to  Mrs.  Crump? 
Still,  there  was  the  only  purpose  he  could  see. 

He  had  conquered  the  old  enemy;  of  this  he  felt 
certain.  Temptations  would  come,  of  course. 
Temptations  were  bound  to  come;  they  came  at 
odd  intervals ;  they  came  here  in  this  hotel  dining 
room,  where  he  could  catch  some  vagrant  odour 
of  whiskey  from  an  indefinable  source.  Yet  they 
would  not  overcome  him  anew,  he  was  confident. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  slowly,  staring  at  the  table- 
cloth, "I  think  I'd  better  head  for  Mrs.  Crump's 
mine,  Ross." 

There  was  that  in  his  voice  which  admitted  of  no 
argument.     Ross  shoved  back  his  chair. 

"Well,  wait  a  minute,  will  you?  I  want  to 
speak  to  Bill  Murray.  Order  me  some  o'  that  pie 
and  another  cup  o'  coffee,  Shea." 

Fred  Ross  opened  the  dining-room  doors,  which 
had  been  closed,  and  departed  to  the  lobby  of  the 
hotel.  He  found  genial  Bill  Murray  just  turning 
from  the  telephone,  and  wearing  a  look  of  puzzled 
excitement. 

"Get  the  ranch?"  asked  Ross.  The  other 
nodded  and  glanced  around  cautiously. 

"Yes.     Talked  to  Old  Man  Durfee — he's  man- 


176  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

ager  for  Sandy.  He  said  that  Sandy  and  Abel 
Dorales  had  just  left  for  Magdalena;  he  ad- 
mitted there  had  been  a  robbery  but  would  say 
nothing  except  that  it  didn't  amount  to  much. 
Injun  relics,  he  said." 

"Huh ! "  Fred  Ross  gazed  at  his  friend,  narrow- 
eyed.  "  I  bet  if  it  was  Injun  relics,  it  was  some  par- 
tic'lar  kind,  then.     That  sounds  damn*  fishy,  Bill." 

"Sure  does,  but  she'll  make  a  grand  little  story, 
played  up.  This  here  Shea  just  came  from  there, 
didn't  he?  And  everybody  knows  about  him  and 
Dorales  and  the  bad  blood." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other,  surmise  in 
their  eyes.  Ross  thoughtfully  rubbed  his  chin, 
remembering  about  that  battered  little  suitcase 
on  the.  hat  rack.  He  did  not  entirely  believe  the 
tale  told  by  Thady  Shea,  the  tale  about  finding  it 
in  the  road.  That  was  too  improbable,  unless  the 
dead  Indian  had  been  carrying  the  suitcase — 
which  seemed,  likewise,  very  improbable. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,  now,"  said  Ross,  musingly. 
"Shea,  he's  the  calm,  hell-nervy  sort,  he  sure  is. 
Likely  Dorales  or  old  Sandy  tried  to  run  a  blazer 
on  him,  and  he  played  merry  hell  with  them. 
Likely  they  had  something  he  thought  belonged  to 
someone  else,  and  he  just  up  and  took  it.  H'm! 
But  the  robbery  had  happened  before  he  got 
there,  he  said.  Well,  if  he  don't  want  to  tell  all  he 
knows,  that's  his  business.     Eh?" 

"I  coincide,"  assented  Murray,  curtly.     Fred 


THADY  SHEA  STARTS  HOME       177 

Ross  briefly  told  him  about  the  suitcase,  in  so  far 
as  he  knew  about  it. 

"Now,"  pursued  Ross,  "you  and  I  ain't  blamin' 
him  or- any  other  man  for  gettin'  old  Mackintavers 
up  on  his  ear.  But  Shea,  in  spite  o'  the  stones 
goin'  around  about  him,  ain't  no  fighter,  Bill. 
He's  a  downright  honest  man,  and  he's  terrible 
when  he  gets  roused,  but  I  don't  guess  he  could 
fight  for  little  apples.  And,  he  don't  know  Sandy 
and  Dorales  are  comin'  to  town." 

"I  see,"  said  Murray,  thoughtfully.  "But  he 
ain't  the  kind  to  run  away,  Fred." 

"C'rect.  But  why  should  he  know  anything 
about  Sandy  coming?  "We'd  ought  to  see  that  he 
avoids  'em,  so  to  speak.  You're  goin'  west  to- 
night.    You  got  room,  ain't  you?" 

"Oh!"  Murray  chuckled,  admiringly.  "So 
that's  the  game !  Sure,  I  got  room.  Where  is  he 
goin',  though?" 

"Near  as  I  got  the  location  o'  the  mine  he's 
aiming  for,  it's  in  the  hills  above  them  lava  beds, 
down  beyond  Zacaton  City  and  No  Agua.  You're 
goin'  west  by  the  highway,  which  is  north  o'  there 
— a  long  sight  north.  But  if  you  were  to  run  a 
few  mile  out  of  your  way,  you  could  hit  down  the 
Old  Fort  Tularosa  trail,  which  is  an  auto  road  now; 
you  could  drop  Shea  by  the  Beaver  Canon  trail, 
down  within  thirty  mile  o'  home,  more  or  less. 
I'll  send  Sandy  and  Dorales  on  to  St.  Johns  after 
you,  savvy?" 


178  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

For  a  moment  the  two  men  conferred  eagerly. 

Unobserved  by  them,  meantime,  a  man  had 
entered  the  hotel  and  was  standing  at  the  cigar 
case,  at  one  side  of  the  desk.  He  was  buying 
cigars.  He  was  roughly  dressed,  but  spoke  per- 
fect English.  When  he  turned  to  the  cigar 
lighter,  disclosing  his  face  to  view,  one  could  see 
that  he  was  very  swarthy,  very  dark  of  colour — an 
Indian,  perhaps. 

This  man  straightened  up,  puffing  at  his  cigar. 
His  eyes  flitted  to  the  little  battered  suitcase, 
which  reposed  on  the  hat  rack,  and  dwelt  there; 
thus  dwelling,  h  s  eyes  narrowed  slightly.  He 
turned  and  left  the  hotel. 

"Who?  Him?"  said  the  hotel  proprietor  in 
response  to  a  question  from  a  man  near  by. 
"W7hy,  he's  Thomas  Twofork;  yep,  an  Injun,  from 
Cochiti  pueblo,  I  hear.  Been  in  town  two-three 
days  now.     Got  money,  they  say,  heaps  of  it." 

Ignorant  of  what  had  transpired  in  the  lobby, 
Thady  Shea  was  glad  when  his  companions  re- 
joined him  and  sat  down  to  their  interrupted 
repast.  Fred  Ross  broached  the  subject  of  de- 
parture; he  broached  it  with  elaborate  carelessness. 

"Bill  is  headin'  for  home  right  away,"  he  said, 
"and  he  goes  within  thirty  mile,  more  or  less,  of 
where  your  mine's  located,  Shea.  If  you  figger 
on  walking,  that  would  be  a  good  lift.  If  you  go 
back  with  me  to-morrow,  you  won't  get  near  so 
nigh  home." 


THADY  SHEA  STARTS  HOME       179 

"Oh!"  Thady  Shea  saw  no  guile;  he  looked 
gratefully  surprised,  and  felt  it.  He  had  an- 
ticipated a  long  trip  via  Zacaton  City.  That 
route  would  be  attended  with  dangers  from 
Dorales  or  the  latter's  men,  besides  having  the 
expense  of  a  car  to  take  him  to  Number  Sixteen. 

''Oh!  I'd  be  glad  indeed — but  do  you  have  to 
leave  to-night?" 

"You  bet,"  said  Murray,  emphatically.  "The 
minute  I  get  this  here  pie  down.  I  got  the  ol' 
car  all  ready  to  hike,  and  I'm  goin'  to  hike  some. 
I  aim  to  get  home  about  sun-up,  sleep  two-three 
hours,  then  get  to  work  on  the  paper.  She's  got 
to  be  run  off  to-morrow  night,  see?  And  I'd  sure 
be  glad  o'  your  company,  Shea.  It's  a  lonesome 
trip  at  night  from  here  over  through  Datil  Canon 
and  all." 

Surely,  thought  Shea,  here  was  fate  aiding  him ! 
Barely  had  he  resolved  to  seek  Mrs.  Crump  and 
the  mine,  than  this  opportunity  offered.  A  walk 
of  a  few  miles  did  not  worry  him  in  the  least. 

"Thank  you,  Murray,"  he  rejoined.  "I'll  go, 
with  pleasure." 

Ten  minutes  later,  the  three  men  left  the  hotel, 
walked  up  to  the  corner,  and  turned  in  to  the 
garage  behind  the  trading  store.  Bill  Murray  paid 
his  debts  to  the  proprietor  and  sought  his  own  car. 

"Well,  Ross,  I'll  say  good-bye  for  a  while,  at 
least."  Shea  turned  and  shook  hands  with  his 
friend.     "I'll  see  you  again,  that's  sure.     Oh — by 


180  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

the  way,  hadn't  we  better  open  that  suitcase?  I 
forgot  about  it.  Let's  get  it  broken  open  here, 
and " 

Ross  interposed  a  hasty  negation.  He  wanted 
only  to  get  Shea  safely  out  of  town  before  Mackin- 
tavers  and  Dorales  should  arrive. 

"No,  don't  get  Murray  nervous,  hangin'  around 
here,  Shea.  He's  dead  anxious  to  be  off,  and  we 
better  not  give  him  any  delay.  I'm  sure  curious 
about  what's  in  that  case,  just  the  same.  S'pose 
you  drop  me  a  line  when  you  find  out,  and  give 
my  regards  to  Mis'  Crump !  Maybe  I'll  drift  over 
your  way  some  time;  if  not,  you  know  where  to 
find  me." 

"You  bet,"  assented  Thady  Shea,  warmly. 

Murray  motioned  Thady  Shea  into  the  front 
seat,  and  took  the  battered  little  suitcase  to  shove 
it  into  the  rear  of  the  car.  An  ejaculation  almost 
escaped  his  lips  as  he  felt  its  weight.  It  was  heavy, 
tremendously  heavy! 

"Ore,  likely,"  he  muttered.  "I  bet  he  don't 
walk  thirty  mile  with  that!" 

Thady  Shea  and  Fred  Ross  parted  with  a  last 
handshake.  Each  of  them  had  probed  deep  into 
the  other  man;  each  of  them  had  found  the  other 
strangely  dissimilar,  yet  strangely  attuned  in 
spirit  to  himself;  each  of  them  had  found  the  other 
to  be  a  man.  Their  handshake  was  firm  and 
quick  and  strong. 

Ross  cranked  the  car.     Bill  Murray  backed  her 


THADY  SHEA  STARTS  HOME       181 

from  the  garage,  roared  a  last  farewell,  and  headed 
out  into  the  west  and  the  night. 

Fred  Ross  went  back  to  the  hotel  after  calling 
upon  certain  friends  of  his;  for  Ross  had  a  fairly 
good  idea  of  what  was  coming  next.  His  theories 
were  not  altogether  correct,  but  they  attained 
pretty  correct  results. 

So,  after  a  short  time,  Fred  Ross  returned  to 
the  hotel  and  sat  down  in  the  lobby,  just  under 
the  big  map  of  New  Mexico  that  hung  upon  the 
south  wall.  Immediately  around  him  the  com- 
fortable oak  rocking-chairs  were  vacant;  but  to 
right  and  left,  three  chairs  away,  sat  red-faced  men 
who  read  newspapers — two  on  either  hand.  These 
four  men  displayed  an  ostentatious  lack  of  inter- 
est in  each  other  and  in  Fred  Ross.  Over  that 
section  of  the  lobby  hung  an  ill-defined  air  of 
crisis,  of  expectation,  of  foreboding. 

Over  opposite,  in  a  corner  of  the  big  front 
window,  sat  a  man,  a  stranger  to  Fred  Ross.  This 
man  had  come  into  town  on  the  late  afternoon 
train.  He  was  palpably  a  city  man,  palpably  not 
of  this  part  of  the  country;  he  had  registered  at 
the  desk  as  James  Z.  Premble  of  New  York.  Spec- 
ulating idly  as  he  waited,  Fred  Ross  set  him  down 
as  a  high-class  drummer. 

Thus  waited  the  six  men,  as  though  they  were 
awaiting  some  event  about  to  happen:  Ross, 
seated  under  the  big  wall  map;  the  four  red -faced 
men  who  read  newspapers  with  marked  absorp- 


182  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

tion;  and,  in  the  corner  of  the  window,  James  Z. 
Premble  of  New  York. 

Suddenly  and  abruptly  it  happened.  It  hap- 
pened just  as  Fred  Ross  had  anticipated.  The 
hotel  door  opened  and  into  the  lobby  walked 
Sandy  Mackintavers  with  Abel  Dor  ales  at  his 
elbow.  They  had  been  to  the  livery  stable,  they 
had  been  to  one  place  and  another,  and  they  had 
soon  learned  that  Thady  Shea,  easily  noted  and  re- 
membered by  all  who  saw  him,  had  been  in  the  com- 
pany of  Ross  and  Murray.  Both  Ross  and  Murray 
were  known  to  Mackintavers  and  his  field  marshal. 

Upon  entering,  Abel  Dorales  passed  straight  on 
to  the  cigar  stand,  where  he  stood  idly  gossiping 
with  the  proprietor.  Mackintavers,  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand  and  a  grunt,  halted  in  front  of  Fred 
Ross,  and  dropped  into  a  chair  beside  the  latter. 

"Hello,  Ross.  Just  the  man  I  was  looking  for. 
Know  a  man  name  o'  Shea,  Thady  Shea?  " 

"Evening,"  returned  Ross,  easily.  "Sure  I 
know  him.     Seen  him  a  while  ago." 

"Know  where  he  is  now?"  asked  Mackintavers 
without  too  great  show  of  interest. 

"Uh-huh.  He  went  off  with  Bill  Murray  to  St. 
Johns  a  couple  of  hours  ago.  Murray  was  in 
some  hurry,  believe  me!  He'd  been  laid  up  here 
with  a  busted  car,  and  had  to  get  out  his  paper 
to-morrow  sure  pop,  so  he  aimed  to  travel  some 
to-night.     You   interested   in   Shea?" 

"Some."  Mackintavers  bit  into  a  cigar.     Over 


THADY  SHEA  STARTS  HOME       183 

the  cigar,  his  eyes  fell  upon  James  Z.  Premble  of 
New  York,  who  was  also  looking  at  him.  After 
an  instant  Premble  rose  and  left  the  hotel. 

Ross  had  not  hesitated  to  impart  the  information 
about  Thady  Shea,  for  the  excellent  reason  that 
if  Mackintavers  followed  Shea  to  St.  Johns,  he 
would  miss  Thady  Shea  entirely.  Therein  Fred 
Ross  made  a  mistake.  It  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  Dorales,  in  a  high-powered  car,  might  follow 
the  tracks  of  Murray's  flivver  where  it  struck  from 
the  highroad  upon  the  Old  Fort  Tularosa  trail. 

"'Bliged  to  ye,  Ross."  With  this  curt  speech, 
Mackintavers  heaved  himself  out  of  his  chair  and 
went  to  the  door.     He  passed  out  into  the  night. 

Abel  Dorales  left  the  cigar  stand,  and  also  started 
for  the  door.  But  he  stopped  before  Fred  Ross, 
exchanged  a  word  of  greeting,  and  his  white  teeth 
showed  in  a  smile.     It  was  not  a  pleasant  smile. 

"  I  hear  you're  going  to  run  sheep  on  your  ranch, 
Ross,"  he  said  clearly.  "Bad  manners  for  an  old 
cowman,  isn't  it?" 

The  four  red-faced  men  laid  aside  their  news- 
papers. They  seemed  to  take  sudden  interest  in 
Abel  Dorales.  Fred  Ross  looked  up,  unsmiling, 
his  eyes  hard  and  cold. 

"Handsome  is  as  handsome  does,  Abel.  Reckon 
I'd  sooner  run  sheep  than  get  chloroformed  and 
hogtied  tryin'  to  jump  a  claim." 

A  fleeting  contraction  passed  across  the  face  of 
Abel  Dorales.     His  eyes  narrowed  to  thin  slits. 


184  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

His  nostrils  quivered  like  the  nose  of  a  dog  sniffing 
game.     He  became  white-lipped,  cruel,  venomous. 

The  four  red-faced  men  stirred.  One  of  them 
rose,  yawning,  and  stretched  himself  as  does  a 
weary  man  who  thinks  well  of  bed  for  the  night. 
Abel  Dorales  took  sudden  warning.  He  looked 
to  the  right  and  to  the  left;  then,  without  a  word 
more,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away, 
following  Mackintavers  out  into  the  night. 

"Trust  a  Mex  to  smell  trouble!"  said  one  of  the 
men  to  the  left  of  Fred  Ross.  "He  reckoned  we 
was  planted  to  do  him  up." 

"Well,  wasn't  we?"  queried  someone.  All 
laughed  in  unison.  Ross  smiled  grimly  and  left 
his  chair. 

"  Much  obliged  to  ye,  boys.  I  didn't  know  they 
would  come  alone,  or  I  wouldn't  ha'  bothered  ye." 

Outside  the  hotel,  meantime,  Mackintavers  had 
joined  James  Z.  Premble,  who  appeared  to  have 
been  awaiting  him.  A  moment  later  Abel  Dorales, 
mouthing  low  and  vitriolic  curses,  joined  them.  In 
silence  the  three  men  turned  to  the  left  and  walked 
down  to  the  railroad  track.  There,  beyond  the 
warehouse,  they  stood  with  open  and  empty  space 
around  them,  and  none  to  overhear. 

"Didn't  look  for  ye  quite  so  soon,  Premble," 
said  Mackintavers,  chuckling  a  little  as  he  used 
the  name. 

"Got  a  good  chance  at  my  man,"  returned  the 
other.     "Came    in    this    afternoon,    Sandy,    but 


THADY  SHEA  STARTS  HOME       185 

couldn't  catch  you  at  the  ranch.  Ready  for  me  to 
work?" 

"Aiblins,  yes;  reckon  we'd  better  get  busy,  you 
and  I."  He  turned  to  Dorales.  "Abel,  our  man 
has  gone  to  St.  Johns  with  Murray.  You  have 
plenty  o'  friends  in  that  Mormon  town,  so  take 
the  big  car  and  mosey  along.  Do  whatever  you 
want  with  Shea,  but  bring  me  back  that  bunch 
o'  stone  gods  if  ye  value  your  life!  I'll  be  at  Mrs. 
Crump's  location." 

"All  right,"  snapped  Dorales.  "Is  he  much 
ahead  of  me?" 

"Two  hours,  in  a  flivver.  You  can't  fail  to 
land  him  this  time.     Good  luck,  boy!" 

Dorales  snarled  farewell,  and  swung  off  in  the 
darkness.  Mackintavers  turned  to  his  friend, 
James  Z.  Premble. 

"I'm  gettin'  old,"  he  complained.  "Been  out 
chasin'  a  thief  all  day  and  I'm  no  good  for  an  all- 
night  ride  now.  I'll  take  a  room  at  the  hotel. 
Drop  in  after  a  spell  and  we'll  arrange  the  details. 
You  got  the  stuff?" 

"Every  blessed  paper  and  letter.  Everything 
0.  K.,"  asserted  Premble. 

The  two  men  melted  into  the  night. 

Five  minutes  later  Dorales  was  filling  his  gaso- 
line tank  at  the  garage.  He  made  brief  inquiries 
about  Murray's  flivver  and  the  brand  of  tires 
thereon.  Off  to  one  side,  a  swarthy  man  was 
hastily  working  upon  the  fan  belt  of  a  big  car, 


186  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

which  had  twice  broken  as  his  engine  started; 
this  swarthy  man  took  keen  and  unobserved  in- 
terest in  the  questions  of  Dorales.  The  name  of 
this  swarthy  man  was  Thomas  Twofork,  and  he 
was  an  Indian  of  the  Cochiti  pueblo.  Twenty 
minutes  after  Dorales  had  departed  Thomas 
Twofork  had  finished  his  repairs  and  headed  his 
car  out  upon  the  westward  road  to  St.  Johns. 

An  hour  afterward,  well  into  the  night,  an 
automobile  came  into  Magdalena  from  the  op- 
posite direction.  It  came  in  by  the  eastern  road, 
the  road  that  comes  up  from  Socorro  through 
Blue  Canon,  the  road  that  comes  south  to  Socorro 
from  Albuquerque  and  Santa  Fe.  This  auto- 
mobile did  not  turn  into  a  garage;  instead,  it 
passed  on  through  the  business  section  of  the 
town  and  did  not  slacken  speed  until  it  reached 
the  Mexican  or  western  quarter. 

There  it  came  to  a  halt  and  its  horn  squawked 
four  times.  Its  searchlight  revealed  a  small  adobe 
house  with  blue-painted  doors.  One  of  these 
doors  opened  to  show  a  man  clad  in  dishevelled 
night  attire.  The  automobile  drove  on  into  the 
yard;  its  lights  flickered  out. 

"Is  that  you,  Juan  Baca?"  queried  a  soft,  gentle 
voice.  "Ah,  yes;  it  is  I,  Coravel  Tio.  Will  you 
give  me  lodging  for  the  night?" 

"Senor,  my  house  and  all  it  contains  belong 
to  you!" 

Coravel  Tio  passed  into  the  little  adobe  house. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

DORALES   KILLS 

IN  THE  chill  darkness  that  precedes  the  early 
dawn  Thady  Shea  alighted  from  Bill  Mur- 
ray's car.  Before  him,  a  few  miles  distant, 
were  Old  Fort  Tularosa  and  Aragon;  many  miles 
behind  was  the  highway.  Down  to  the  southeast 
— somewhere — was  his  destination. 

"Mind,  now,"  cautioned  Murray,  "you  take 
this  here  trail  and  it'll  lead  up  through  them  hills 
into  Beaver  Canon.  Follow  Beaver  Crick  all 
the  rest  o'  the  way.  Near  as  I  can  judge,  your 
place  is  somewhere  down  beyond  Eagle  Peak. 
If  you  get  clear  lost,  send  up  a  smoke  and  a 
ranger  will  be  dead  sure  to  trail  you  down.  G  'bye 
and  good  luck!" 

"Good-bye,  and  many  thanks  for  the  lift!"  re- 
sponded Shea,  his  sonorous  voice  pierced  with  the 
chill  of  the  early  morning.  Murray  went  buzzing 
away  on  the  back  trail. 

Carrying  his  battered  little  suitcase,  Thady 
Shea  started  off,  gradually  accustoming  his  eyes 
to  picking  out  the  rough  trail.  It  mattered 
nothing  to  him  that  he  might  be  days  upon  this 
road;  it  mattered  nothing  that  he  was  about  to 

187 


188  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

negotiate  the  continental  divide  afoot.  Time  and 
space  did  not  concern  him,  nor  bodily  discomfort. 
His  was  the  supremely  ignorant  confidence  of  a 
child  as  he  headed  into  the  mountains  to  find  a 
mine  whose  entire  location,  going  at  it  from  this 
direction,  was  a  matter  of  guesswork. 

To  be  more  accurate  and  practical,  Thady 
Shea,  having  slept  lightly  while  riding,  was  weary. 
He  was  also  cold  and  confused.  Now  that  he  had 
reached  a  decision  and  was  really  on  his  way  to 
Number  Sixteen,  he  felt  unaccountably  homesick. 
Not  that  Number  Sixteen  meant  home,  but  Mrs. 
Crump  would  be  there.  As  usual,  Thady  Shea 
was  a  bit  vague  in  analyzing  his  feelings;  but  he 
had  a  solid  and  definite  purpose  in  view,  at  least. 
He  was  going  to  rejoin  Mrs.  Crump.  He  was 
going  to  learn  mining  work. 

He  went  on,  trudging  bravely  under  his  bur- 
den, until  the  cold  had  pierced  and  chilled  and 
numbed  him.  At  last  he  could  endure  the  cold  no 
longer.  Ignorant  of  forest  rangers  or  forest  law, 
he  had  quite  missed  the  point  of  Miller's  parting 
joke  about  sending  up  a  smoke.  He  contrived 
"to  build  himself  a  fire;  a  fine  roaring  fire,  a  ruddy, 
leaping  fire  that  warmed  him.  It  was  a  fire  that 
blazed  forth  patent  defiance  of  all  law.  Its  dart- 
ing glow  was  caught  by  a  forest  ranger  in  a  lookout 
on  Indian  Peaks  fifteen  miles  away. 

With  the  first  gleam  of  the  rising  sun  Thady 
Shea  abandoned  his  blazing  fire  and  took  up  his 


DORALES  KILLS  189 

journey  again,  following  the  winding  trail  without 
trouble.  A  little  later  he  halted  and  made  a  cold 
breakfast  from  some  of  the  food  that  filled  his 
pockets.  Then  he  decided  to  open  the  suitcase 
and  see  if  it  were  worth  carrying  farther,  or  if  it 
held  tokens  of  ownership.  By  this  time,  he  was 
sorry  that  he  had  dragged  the  thing  along. 

He  smashed  open  the  suitcase.  Within  it  he 
found  wads  of  crumpled  newspapers,  and  among 
the  newspapers  seven  stones.  At  first  he  thought 
they  were  nothing  but  stones.  Gradually  he 
realized  that  they  were  carven  images  of  some  sort. 
Except  for  these,  there  was  nothing  in  the  suitcase. 
There  was  nothing  to  denote  its  ownership — not 
a  mark,  not  a  line,  not  a  card  nor  a  word. 

Thady  Shea  set  out  the  seven  stone  gods  on  the 
ground,  and  regarded  them.  The  more  he  looked 
at  them,  the  more  he  saw  in  them.  Each  one  was 
somewhat  different  in  shape,  but  all  were  of  a  size. 
They  were  smooth  and  rounded,  as  if  from  much 
handling,  or  as  if  worn  sleek  by  many  centuries. 
They  were  crude,  uncouth  little  figures,  those 
gods;  they  were  fashioned  rudely  in  the  semblance 
of  man,  with  every  angle  and  sharp  line  worn 
down,  obliterated,  rounded. 

"They  look  as  if  some  kid  had  been  making 
mud  dolls,  and  the  mud  had  hardened,"  ob- 
served Shea  in  some  wonder.  The  description  was 
accurate  and  perfect. 

Thady  Shea  knew  nothing  about  Indians  or 


190  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

their  gods.  He  had  not  the  slightest  idea  what 
these  things  really  were;  but  he  was  a  member  of 
The  Profession,  an  actor  of  the  old  school.  All 
his  life  he  had  been  surrounded  by  the  super- 
stitions of  the  old  school.  As  everyone  knows, 
there  are  no  stronger,  firmer,  and  more  absolute 
superstitions  than  those  of  The  Profession. 

As  Thady  Shea  gazed  upon  those  seven  stone 
gods  which  sat  in  the  dust  and  grinned  stonily 
back  at  him,  various  things  suggested  themselves 
to  his  fertile  brain.  Seven  of  them — and  seven 
was  beyond  question  a  lucky  number!  Then, 
fate  had  undoubtedly  placed  them  in  his  hand  and 
had  removed  any  clew  to  their  former  owners. 
Luck  had  come  to  him,  and  if  he  threw  the  luck 
away  because  of  a  little  bother  involved  in  carry- 
ing it — well,  that  would  be  an  ill  thing  to  do! 

Out  of  his  subconscious  self  evolved  a  curious 
idea,  a  remembrance.  What  did  these  things 
represent?  He  dimly  remembered  something 
about  the  seven  heavenly  virtues  and  the  seven 
deadly  sins.  The  vague  thought  stirred  him. 
These  images  were  ugly  enough  to  represent  the 
seven  sins — or  the  seven  virtues.  He  must  keep 
them  at  all  costs;  in  the  manner  of  their  coming 
was  something  fated,  something  that  appealed 
to  all  the  latent  superstition  within  him.  He 
dared  not  refuse  these  talismen! 

So  he  replaced  them  in  the  suitcase  and  took 
up  his  road  anew. 


DORALES  KILLS  191 

It  was  a  rough  road  that  called  to  him.  It  was 
a  long  and  lonely  road,  a  road  that  took  him  out 
of  human  ken  and  into  the  heart  of  the  high  hills. 

He  swung  along  at  a  good  four-mile  clip,  his 
long  legs  fast  covering  the  ground.  He  had  never 
before  this  day  been  actually  among  the  moun- 
tains, and  he  liked  their  friendly,  forested  faces. 
The  rough  trail  denoted  very  little  usage,  yet  this 
absence  of  all  humanity  did  not  oppress  Thady 
Shea.     He  felt  gloriously  independent,  free! 

About  noon  he  was  following  Beaver  Creek 
through  a  rough  and  rugged  canon.  Here  he 
lunched,  with  a  silver-black  pool  of  water  foaming 
and  bubbling  fifty  feet  below  him;  a  pool  that 
foamed  green  and  silver  with  sunlight  and  bubbled 
with  black  shadows  Over  on  the  opposite  wall 
of  the  canon  was  a  broken  line  of  masonry,  half 
hiding  a  niche  in  the  rock  where  once  had  lived  and 
died  the  cliff  dwellers.  It  was  a  spot  to  remember. 
It  was  a  p  ace  that  stirred  the  deep  things  in  a 
man's  soul,  that  caused  him  to  think  upon  the 
mysteries,  the  flashing  glimpses  of  occult  things. 
About  that  place  there  lingered  a  sense  of  the 
futility  of  man,  a  sense  of  the  gorgeously  foaming 
and  bubbling  eternity  of  the  Creator.  Thady 
Shea  was  glad  that  he  had  seen  that  place. 

Afterward,  he  halted  for  a  smoke,  this  time 
beside  the  stream  itself,  farther  along  the  canon. 
Thady  Shea  had  never  been  a  boy — until  to-day. 
At  ten  years  he  had  been  an  accomplished  actor, 


192  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

a  child  marvel,  drunken  and  drugged  with  the 
unhealthy  atmosphere  of  the  stage.  But  now — 
now!  The  altitude  was  high,  and  he  was  drunk 
as  with  fine  wine.  He  waded  in  the  stony  creek, 
he  even  thought  of  fishing  with  a  bent  pin  on  a 
string;  but  he  had  neither  pin  nor  string.  He 
enjoyed  a  truant  hour.  Then  he  went  on  his  way 
anew,  vowing  inwardly  that  some  day  he  would 
return  to  this  little  bubbling  creek  and  the  winding 
canon  amid  the  mountains. 

Despite  the  altitude,  weariness  had  left  him, 
and  he  carried  the  seven  stone  gods  without  feel- 
ing their  weight.  Deeper  and  lonelier  grew  his 
trail,  the  mountains  folding  him  in  upon  every 
side.  He  began  to  feel  the  infinity  of  distance. 
He  was  a  mere  tiny  atom  here  among  these  great 
solitudes.  His  insignificance  was  borne  home 
upon  him,  mellowing  all  his  spirit. 

In  this  chastened  mood  he  came,  suddenly  and 
without  warning,  upon  the  tragic  shack  of  the 
sheep-herder. 

It  was  a  shack  of  logs  and  hewn  timbers,  a  rough 
little  shack,  a  tragic  little  shack.  Upon  one  wall 
was  fastened  a  faded  paper,  a  permit  issued  by 
the  forest  ranger  to  cut  these  same  timbers.  In 
the  sun  by  the  doorway  sat  a  little  brown,  half- 
naked  baby,  perhaps  a  year  of  age,  whimpering 
and  chewing  upon  a  strip  of  raw  white  bacon. 
There  was  no  one  else  visible.  Over  the  place, 
tainting  the  clear  high  air,  hung  a  fearful  odour  of 


DORALES  KILLS  193 

mortality;  an  odour  of  tragic  suggestion,  an  odour 
of  blood  and  liquor. 

Seeing  no  one  about  except  the  baby,  wha 
stopped  whimpering  at  sight  of  him,  Thady  Shea 
advanced  to  the  doorway.  He  glanced  inside.  As 
he  did  so,  cold  and  awful  horror  stiffened  upon  him. 
Even  to  his  tyro's  eye  the  story  was  plain  to  read. 

Upon  the  bare  earthen  floor,  just  inside  the  door, 
sat  the  sheep-herder.  The  effluvia  of  his  garments 
told  eloquently  his  profession.  Between  his  out- 
stretched feet  lay  a  cheap  revolver.  His  swarthy, 
brutal  face,  the  face  of  a  Mexican,  the  face  of  a 
barbarian  drawn  from  mingled  Indian  and  bas- 
tard Spanish  blood,  was  sunken  upon  his  chest. 
He  was  breathing  stertorously,  horribly.  He  was 
drunk,  stupefied  with  liquor.  Upon  the  floor 
beneath  his  hand  had  fallen  an  empty  bottle 
which  stank  of  the  vilest  mescal. 

Only  a  few  feet  distant,  sprawled  under  one 
wall  of  the  room,  was  the  body  of  a  woman,  a 
brown  native  woman.  She  had  been  upon  her 
knees  beneath  a  little  crucifix.  She  had  fallen 
partly  forward,  partly  sideways;  a  cotton  gar- 
ment had  been  torn  from  her  left  shoulder  and 
breast,  as  though  in  some  last  agony.  Beneath 
the  left  breast,  black  with  flies,  a  pool  of  black 
blood  was  coagulating.  She  had  not  been  dead 
a  long  time;  an  hour  or  two,  no  more. 

Thady  Shea  took  a  step  backward.  He  put 
one  hand  to  his  eves,  as  if  to  shut  from  his  vision 


194  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

that  sordid  and  horrible  scene.  For  a  moment 
he  stood  thus,  his  brain  in  riotous  turmoil;  then 
Jbe  started  violently  as  a  hand  touched  his  arm. 

*  'Hello,  stranger!     I  been  looking  for  you!" 

Shea  stared  at  the  man  who  had  just  dis- 
mounted from  a  pony;  a  white  man,  grave  and 
steady  of  eye.  Something  in  the  horror-smitten  face 
of  Shea  drew  an  exclamation  from  this  other  man. 

"Here— what's  the  matter?" 

"In  there.  Look!"  Thady  Shea  motioned  to 
the  doorway. 

The  other  man,  the  forest  ranger  who  had  come 
frome  the  lookout  station  on  Indian  Peaks, 
quickly  strode  forward.  His  figure  filled  the  door- 
way for  a  long  moment.  He  stood  there  silently, 
gazing  in  upon  that  tragic  shack,  reading  every 
detail  with  skilled  eyes.  At  last  he  turned  and 
rejoined  Thady  Shea,  who  was  staring  down  at  the 
baby. 

"You  built  a  fire  early  this  morning  on  the  old 
trail  up  from  the  Tularosa  Road?"  The  ranger 
gave  his  name  and  office.  "H'm-m.  Know 
anything  about  the  fire  laws?" 

"Fire  laws?  No,"  Shea  was  disturbed  and 
wondering.  "Why?  Shouldn't  I  have  built  any 
fire?" 

"Not  that  kind — not  a  big  hell-roarer.  No 
harm  done,  I  reckon;  I  stamped  out  your  fire. 
But  see  to  it  that  you  don't  do  it  again.  Here's 
a  copy  of  the  laws." 


DORAI.ES  KILLS  195 

He  extended  a  card.  Shea  pocketed  it  with  a 
helpless  gesture,  and  looked  again  at  the  doorway 
of  the  shack.  The  ranger  caught  his  look,  and 
nodded. 

"I  guess  you'd  just  found  'em,  eh?  It's  a  hell 
of  a  note.  This  fellow  Garcia,  with  his  wife  and 
kid,  came  up  from  Mexico;  refugees.  He's  been 
herding  some  sheep;  some  that  the  Y  Ranch 
got  a  permit  to  run  in  a  big  box  canon  last  winter — 
and  he's  not  a  bad  sort  when  he's  sober.  But  now 
— well,  there's  no  doubt  about  him  now.  He'll 
be  a  good  greaser  in  two-three  weeks,  when  the 
drop's  sprung.  Suppose  I  got  to  take  him  in; 
hell  of  a  note!     You  ain't  been  inside?" 

Thady  Shea  shuddered.  "No,"  he  answered. 
He  looked  down  at  the  baby.  The  baby  looked 
up  at  him,  removed  the  strip  of  white  bacon  from 
her  mouth,  and  smiled. 

"It's  a  girl!"  said  Thady  Shea  in  surprise  and 
awe. 

The  ranger  gave  him  a  curious  look,  then  took 
out  his  notebook  and  pencil. 

"Name  and  where  from,  if  you  please,"  he 
said.  "We'll  likely  have  to  come  and  take  down 
your  testimony  later  on." 

Thady  Shea  gave  his  name,  and  gave  as  well 
as  he  was  able  the  location  of  Mrs.  Crump's  mine. 
The  ranger  once  more  eyed  him,  but  this  time 
with  a  new  air. 

"Hell!     I've  heard  o'  you,  Shea.     Partners  with 


196  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

Mrs.  Crump,  eh?  That's  a  pretty  good  recom- 
mend.    Where  you  goin'  from  here?" 

"To  the  mine.  I  believe  that  by  following  this 
creek  I'll  get  into  the  right  territory  sooner  or 
later.  I  know  how  to  reach  the  mine  from 
Zacaton  City,  but  from  this  direction  I'm  not  so 
sure." 

Thady  Shea  was  badly  off.  He  was  thoroughly 
shaken  by  the  fearful  scene  within  the  tragic 
shack.  It  had  unnerved  him,  and  he  wanted  a 
drink  with  avid  and  terrible  longing.  The  ranger 
observed  it. 

"I  ain't  offering  you  any  drinks,  Shea,"  he  said, 
dryly.  "Heard  a  few  things  about  what  happens 
to  folks  that  offer  you  drinks.  Still,  I  always  do 
carry  a  drop  for  emergencies,  and  I  have  a  notion 
that  you  need  a  sip  mighty  bad." 

Thady  Shea  forced  a  grim  smile.  " Thanks.  But 
— the  need  will  have  to  be  greater  than  it  is  now,  my 
friend.     You  think  I  can  reach  the  mine  to-night?  " 

"No.  Some  time  to-morrow,  most  likely.  Now 
listen  close  and  I'll  give  you  directions  where  to 
leave  this  canon,  or  else  you'll  come  out  clear 
down  on  the  Gila! " 

Having  gleaned  a  fairly  precise  knowledge  of  the 
location  of  Number  Sixteen,  the  ranger  pro- 
ceeded to  give  Thady  Shea  an  accurate  mental  map 
of  the  trails,  backed  up  by  a  rough  drawing.  Then 
he  entered  the  shack,  carried  out  the  murderer, 
and  bound  the  man  on  his  pony  like  a  sack  of  flour. 


DORALES  KILLS  197 

"What  the  devil  will  become  o'  the  kid?"  he 
queried.  "Come  on,  Shea,  let's  get  the  poor 
woman  buried.  That  baby,  now — d'you  suppose 
you  could  wait  here  until  I  send  back  for  her?  I 
can't  handle  the  greaser  and  the  baby,  too." 

Thady  Shea  did  not  respond  at  once.  He 
seemed  oblivious  of  the  question;  but  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  he  was  deep  in  thought. 

The  two  men  together  dug  a  grave  and  de- 
cently interred  the  poor  murdered  woman.  Over 
the  mound  Thady  Shea  intoned  a  fragmentary 
burial  service.  What  he  lacked  in  words  he  made 
up  in  rolling  phrases  culled  from  other  sources 
than  the  prayer  book,  and  in  a  deeply  sincere 
manner  which  sat  upon  him  with  stately  dignity. 

They  returned  to  the  front  of  the  shack,  where 
the  ranger  rolled  a  cigarette  with  studied  care, 
and  returned  to  his  perplexity. 

"What  about  this  here  kid,  now?  These  folks 
haven't  any  kin  this  side  the  border,  and  these 
greasers  don't  give  a  whoop  for  babies  anyhow; 
too  common.  This  Garcia  is  the  one  that  de- 
serves my  close  and  personal  attention  until  he 
gets  shoved  into  the  kind  o'  hell  he's  bound  for — 
which  won't  be  very  long.  Of  course,  the  kid  can 
go  to  some  orphanage  or  the  State  will  take  care 
of  her.     She's  a  smilin'  little  cuss!" 

Thady  Shea  fingered  his  shaggy,  gray-black 
beard. 

"If  there's  a  razor  around  the  place,  I  think 


198  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

I'll  shave,"  he  uttered,  thoughtfully.  His  words 
drew  a  look  of  frowning  surprise  from  the  ranger, 
so  utterly  at  variance  with  the  subject  did  they 
seem.     "Yes,  I  think  I'll  shave." 

"Why,  friend,  I've  been  thinking  about  that 
infant,"  pursued  Shea.  "You  know  Mrs.  Crump, 
I  gather?  I  think  she  would  care  for  the  little 
one.  I'll  take  care  of  the  child  on  the  journey 
there;  I  imagine  we  can  get  along.  I — er — I  don't 
mind  saying  that — ei* — there  is  a  whimsey  born  of 
infancy's  fond  smiles  which  warms  the  kindlier 
soul  within  a  man." 

He  broke  off,  quite  at  a  loss  for  further  words. 
But  the  ranger  understood,  and  smiled  to  himself. 

"That  suits  me,  Shea.  You'll  be  at  the  mine, 
eh?  May  call  on  you  later  in  regard  to  the  evi- 
dence here.  Yes,  that's  a  good  plan.  Let's  see 
if  we  can  chase  up  a  razor,  now." 

The  ranger  disappeared  inside  the  tragic  shack. 

Upward  of  two  hours  later  a  new  Thady  Shea 
was  continuing  his  journey;  the  tragic  shack  was 
far  lost  to  view  in  the  wilderness  behind  him. 

His  upper  lip,  his  long  under  jaw,  were  shaven 
and  in  white  contrast  with  the  bronzed  skin  of 
cheeks  and  brow.  His  wide,  mobile  mouth  and 
chin  differed  from  those  of  the  wastrel  Thaddeus 
Roscius  who  had  lain  in  the  road  above  the  Bajada 
hill.  They  were  firmer,  more  virile  of  set,  stronger 
of  muscle. 

In  one  hand  he  carried  the  battered  little  yellow 


DORALES  KILLS  199 

suitcase.  Upon  the  other  arm  was  perched  the 
half-naked  brown  baby,  for  whose  benefit  Shea 
also  carried  a  blanket  tied  to  his  shoulders.  This 
was  not  the  ideal  trim  for  a  walking  tour  acixjss 
the  Continental  Divide,  but  Thady  Shea  had  no 
complaints  to  make. 

Never  before  had  Thady  Shea  communed  alone 
with  a  baby,  particularly  with  a  baby  quite  de- 
pendent upon  hiiru  This  baby  could  not  talk 
but  she  could  coo,  and  she  did  coo.  She  could 
laugh,  and  she  did  laugh.  She  seemed  to  find  a 
kinship  within  the  deep,  sadly  earnest  eyes  of 
Thady  Shea.  She  made  it  evident  that  she  liked 
his  eyes,  and  whenever  they  were  turned  upon  her, 
she  giggled  with  self-conscious  and  adorable  delight. 

The  day  wore  on.  When  darkness  descended, 
Thady  Shea  camped  at  the  brink  of  the  canon, 
at  the  edge  of  a  deep  and  stony  gully  which  ran 
down  into  the  canon  below.  He  built  a  fire,  this 
time  in  accord  with  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  pro- 
duced his  *scant  store  of  food.  Fortunately,  the 
baby  was  u^ed  to  living  by  rough  ways  and  pas- 
tures sere. 

In  this  one  day  Thady  Shea  lived  long  years. 
He  realized  it  himself.  He  realized  the  change 
within  him;  he  perceived  it  at  once,  without  any 
vagueness  or  obscurity.  He  was  filled  with 
wonder  and  awe.  He  felt  clearly  that  the  mani- 
fest friendship  and  love  of  this  brown  baby  had 
loosened  something  far  inside  of  him.     Within  a 


200  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

few  hours  she  had  loosened  something  which  had 
been  hard  and  clenched  and  bitter  inside  of  him 
these  twenty  years — something  like  a  knot  gripped 
about  a  part  of  his  soul,  stifling  it.  But  now, 
at  last,  the  knot  was  loosened,  was  gone. 

Once  again  he  fell  asleep  under  the  stars  with 
glinting  tears  bedewing  his  brown  cheeks;  they 
were  tears  of  joy  and  thankfulness.  He  knew 
that  he  was  no  longer  to  drift  upon  the  earth. 
From  depending  upon  the  applause  of  others  for 
happiness,  others  were  now  depending  upon  him. 
He  had  someone  for  whom  to  live.  Vanity  was 
gone  from  him,  and  the  worth  of  life  was  come 
in  unto  him.  He  now  had  a  purpose,  a  real 
purpose,  to  drive  him. 

That  this  purpose  was  very  definite  and  earnest, 
he  had  realized  with  the  unloosing  of  that  knot 
about  his  soul.  He  knew  whither  he  was  going, 
and  why — why  he  wanted  to  find  Mrs.  Crump, 
He  fell  asleep  with  tears  upon  his  cheeks  and  in 
his  heart  a  dumbly  vibrant  song. 

Some  time  during  the  night  he  was  awakened; 
the  baby  was  whimpering,  was  cold.  The  fire 
was  dying  down.  He  had  been  awakened  by  a 
queer  noise,  a  noise  like  the  clank  of  a  shod  hoof 
against  a  stone.  He  rose  and  kicked  the  ember 
ends  into  the  fire.  He  removed  his  coat  and  laid 
it  over  the  baby,  then  he  stood  looking  down  at  the 
bundle.  The  fire  flickered  up  until  its  glowing 
flare  lighted  his  tall  figure  redly  and  distinctly. 


DORALES  KILLS  201 

From  somewhere  in  the  darkness  came  a  slight 
sound.  Thady  Shea  lifted  up  his  head  and  peered 
about,  the  vague  thought  of  wild  animals  dis- 
turbing him.  From  the  darkness  echoed  a  faint 
laugh — a  thin,  ironic  laugh,  a  laugh  that  thrilled 
Thady  Shea  with  evil  memories  and  swift  appre- 
hension. He  seemed  to  recognize  it  as  the  laugh 
of  Abel  Dorales. 

Before  he  could  do  more  than  lift  his  head  and 
peer  into  the  darkness,  that  darkness  was  sud- 
denly split  and  rended  by  a  red  flash.  The  crack 
of  a  weapon  lifted  and  lessened  among  the  hills; 
as  it  died  away,  the  baby  cried  out,  whimpering. 
Across  the  face  of  Thady  Shea  flickered  a  look  of 
dismay,  of  surprise,  of  utmost  horror.  Thady  Shea 
took  a  step  backward,  as  though  something  had 
lifted  him  off  his  balance,  as  though  something  un- 
seen had  impacted  against  him  with  terrific  force. 
He  staggered  and  lifted  both  hands  to  his  head. 
Then  his  knees  seemed  to  loosen,  and  he  pitched 
downward,  at  the  very  brink  of  the  gully. 

From  the  stony  ravine  below  came  a  heavy 
sound,  as  of  a  body  pitching  and  dragging  down- 
ward. It  ceased,  and  there  was  abrupt  silence. 
In  that  silence,  the  baby  cried  out,  whimpering 
thinly. 

Into  the  circle  of  light  cast  by  the  tiny  fire  came 
a  man  leading  a  pony.  The  man  was  Abel  Dorales 
and  he  was  smiling. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MACKINTAVERS   MAKES   FRIENDS 

MRS.  CRUMP  was  grimly  jubilant.  She 
had  just  killed,  not  far  from  the  shack 
which  she  inhabited,  a  rattler.  It  was  a 
peculiarly  deadly  rattler,  a  big  diamond-back,  and 
its  black-and-yellow  body  looked  very  beautiful 
lying  out  in  the  morning  sunlight. 

Mrs.  Crump  had  killed  that  rattler  most 
expertly;  she  had  killed  it  with  one  snapping 
crack  of  a  blacksnake  whip.  That  one  whip  snap 
had  coiled  about  the  rattler's  head  and  had  neatly 
decapitated  the  reptile.  Somewhere  among  the 
rocks  that  head  lay  naked  and  ugly,  jaws  wide 
agape,  white  fangs  gleaming  like  needles. 

Now,  up  on  the  long  hogback,  Mrs.  Crump 
directed  the  work  of  getting  out  ore,  Lewis  and 
Gilbert  working  steadily  under  her  orders.  There 
was  already  a  goodly  heap  of  ore  ready  for  hauling. 
Mrs.  Crump  was  awaiting  the  arrival  of  Coravel 
Tio,  whom  she  expected  hourly;  she  had  written 
Coravel  Tio  very  explicitly,  and  was  looking  for- 
ward to  making  some  money  in  the  near  future. 

When  Coravel  Tio  arrived,  they  would  arrange 
about  getting  a  light  truck  to  haul  the  ore  to  rail- 

202 


MACKLNTAVERS  MAKES  FRIENDS  203 

road,  and  they  would  arrange  about  selling  the  ore. 
Coravel  Tio  would  handle  all  such  details.  Actual 
production  was  well  under  way,  and  inside  of  an- 
other month  Mrs.  Crump  hoped  to  have  a  good 
force  of  men  working.  Provided,  of  course,  that 
the  mine  was  not  sold  outright. 

"Looks  like  he's  a-coining."  Gilbert  swung  out 
his  hand  toward  the  trail  from  No  Agua.  Shading 
her  eyes,  Mrs.  Crump  perceived  a  smudge  of 
white  dust.     An  automobile  was  approaching. 

It  was  not  Coravel  Tio  who  came,  however. 
It  was  Sandy  Mackintavers,  driven  in  a  hired  car 
from  Magdalena. 

Mehitabel  Crump  was  stiff-necked  and  un- 
compromising. She  stood  in  the  door  of  her 
shack,  storm  in  her  eyes,  and  waited  grimly.  Out- 
side, sprawled  on  a  bench  that  ran  the  length  of 
the  shack,  Lewis  and  Gilbert  smoked  and  also 
waited,  ready  to  act  if  called  upon. 

Sandy  Mackintavers  left  his  automobile  and 
approached  the  shack,  quick  to  note  the  arrange- 
ments for  his  reception.  He  came  up  to  the  door- 
way where  Mrs.  Crump  awaited  him.  He  re- 
moved his  hat  as  he  came,  and  mopped  his  brow; 
the  sun  was  pitiless,  streaming  down  with  direct 
and  scorching  glare,  absolute  and  insufferable.  In 
another  hour  or  two  it  would  be  much  worse. 
Sandy  Mackintavers  held  his  hat  in  his  left  hand; 
he  extended  his  right  hand,  square-fingered  and 
strong,  to  Mrs.  Crump. 


204  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

"Madam,  I  have  come  here  as  a  friend.  Will 
you  shake  hands  with  me?" 

"Not  by  a  damn'  sight!" 

Mrs.  Crump's  eyes  were  snapping  dangerously. 
Her  retort  did  not  seem  to  affect  Mackintavers, 
however.  His  square-hewn  features  assumed  an 
oddly  hypocritical  expression  of  patient  resigna- 
tion.    His  hand  remained  extended. 

"I  must  explain.  Your  friend  Shea  has  repaid 
the    money — you    understand?" 

" Reckon  I  do.     What  about  it?  " 

"We  had  quite  a  conversation,  Mrs.  Crump. 
That  man  is  a  wonder!  Yes'm.  Most  remark- 
able! I  never  did  see  things  so  clear  as  he  made 
me  see  'em,  aiblins  yes.  If  I  may  say  so,  I  feel 
ashamed  of  myself.  I've  done  some  unhandsome 
things;  aiblins,  now,  I'll  turn  around.  I'm  right 
sorry  for  some  things,  Mrs.  Crump.  Will  ye  take 
my  hand?" 

Now,  if  there  was  anything  which  could  shake 
the  uncompromising  hostility  of  Mrs.  Crump,  it 
was  to  hear  her  bitterest  enemy  praise  Thady  Shea. 
Aside  from  this,  to  hear  Sandy  Mackintavers 
express  penitence  for  past  sins,  even  to  hear 
him  admit  that  he  had  sinned,  was  an  astound- 
ing thing.  The  incredibility  of  it  was  tremen- 
dous. 

That  mention  of  Thady  Shea  softened  Mrs. 
Crump.  She  realized  that  Thady  had  made  a  great 
impression,  had  made  so  great  an  impression  that 


MACKINTAVERS  MAKES  FRIENDS  205 

here  was  Sandy  Mackintavers,  in  the  flesh,  making 
apologies  for  past  deeds ! 

"Well,  Sandy,"  she  returned,  bluntly,  "I  will 
say  that  I  think  ye  to  be  more  or  less  of  a  skunk. 
Howsomever,  I'll  meet  any  man  halfway — even 
you — when  he  talks  that-a-way.  I  don't  guess 
we'd  ever  be  bosom  friends,  but  I  don't  aim  to  be 
mean  or  ornery  when  a  man's  try  in'  to  be  as 
white  as  his  nature  allows  him.     Here  y'are." 

She  seized  his  hand  and  shook  it  vigorously. 
Mackintavers  looked  rather  red  about  the  face,  as 
though  her  frank  opinion  of  his  character  had 
bitten  into  him. 

"Now,  if  you  have  time  to  be  talk'n'  over  a  little 
matter  o'  business " 

"About  this  here  location?"  Mrs.  Crump's  eyes 
began  to  snap  again. 

"Yes." 

"Gilbert!  Lewis!  Come  on  in  here.  Meet 
Sandy  Mackintavers.  They're  members  o'  the 
company,  Sandy.  They  got  claims  along  the 
canon,  which  same  they  turned  in  for  stock. 
Stock  ain't  issued  yet,  but  that's  all  right.  Come 
on  inside  an'  talk." 

The  lady  was  truculent  and  openly  suspicious; 
the  two  men  were  narrow-eyed,  hostile.  Mackin- 
tavers seemed  quite  oblivious,  and  entered  the 
the  shack.  All  four  seated  themselves.  Mackin- 
tavers produced  cigars.  Mrs.  Crump  lighted  her 
pipe  and  uttered  a  single  emphatic  word. 


206  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

"Shoot!" 

"You  have  a  valuable  mine  here,"  said  Mackin- 
tavers,  without  preamble.  "I  want  to  control  it. 
I'm  talking  frank  and  laying  my  cards  on  the  table, 
ma'am.  First,  let  me  give  you  folks  an  idea  of 
theraiToad  situation." 

He  briefly  described  the  prevalent  car  shortage, 
with  the  reasons  therefor. 

"You'll  get  no  ore  cars  until  the  war's  over, 
and  maybe  not  then,"  he  pursued.  "But  I  have 
a  stand  ng  contract  that  can't  be  broken,  for  so 
many  cars  a  month — and  I'm  getting  them.  Ye 
see?  Aiblins,  now,  that  contract's  worth  some- 
thing; set  your  own  figure  on  it.  For  the  rest, 
I'll  buy  stock  at  your  own  price,  a  controlling 
interest." 

"Sandy,  who'd  ever  trust  you  once  ye  got  your 
nose  into  this  thing?  "  Mrs  Crump  laughed  scorn- 
fully.    "Not  me!" 

"Then  don't  trust  me,"  returned  Sandy,  meekly, 
although  the  veins  in  his  temples  swelled  into 
blue  cords.  "Don't  trust  me.  Hire  your  own 
lawyers  to  draw  up  the  matter,  protect  your 
interests  fully.  Give  me  charge  of  the  actual 
mine,  and  then  sit  back  an'  draw  down  the  coin 
from  your  interest;  savvy?  If  I'm  not  able  to 
make  millions  out  o'  this  here  mine,  I'll  quit! 
Ain't  that  frank  talk?  Ain't  I  human?  I  tell 
ye,  when  that  man  Shea  came  along  and  turned 
back  that  money,  I  learned  something!" 


MACKINTAVERS  MAKES  FRIENDS  207 

"Where's  Thady  Shea  now?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Crump. 

"Went  to  St.  Johns  night  before  last»with  Fred 
Ross  and  Bill  Murray.  Said  he'd  be  nere  later, 
maybe.  I  like  that  mani  Something  about  him 
kind  o'  draws  you,  Aiblins,  he'd  be  grand  in  the 
legislature,  now!  Eh?  Well,  well,  about  this 
mine  matter;  as  I  say,  use  any  means  ye  like.  I 
don't  blame  you  for  not  trusting  me.  But  it's  a 
good  thing  and  I'll  buy  into  it,  savvy?  Protect 
yourself,  certainly.  But  why  not  let  me  buy  into 
it?  I  have  a  bit  of  influence;  aiblins,  now,  I'd  be 
able  to  help  production  here  an'  there,  and  to 
furnish  no  end  of  money  for  the  work." 

The  snap  had  gone  out  of  Mrs.  Crump's 
blue  eyes.  They  were  suddenly  warm,  kindly,  un- 
guarded. Thady  Shea  in  the  legislature:  Why 
not?  And  Sandy  was  dead  right.  Everyone 
seemed  to  be  drawn  to  Thady  Shea. 

There  was  some  subsequent  discussion  to  which 
Mackintavers  himself  put  an  end. 

"Let  it  hang  fire  for  a  day  or  so,  Mis'  Crump. 
If  ye  don't  mind,  I'll  hang  around  and  look  over 
the  place  and  vicinity  for  my  own  self.  Mebbe 
Shea  will  get  back;  the  place  is  in  his  name,  ain't 
it?     Understood  so." 

"Yes,"  assented  Mrs.  Crump,  unthinking. 
"And  each  of  us  owns  a  third  interest,  or  at  least, 
so  it'll  be  arranged." 

"And  the  other  third?"     Mackintavers  looked 


208  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

swiftly  at  her.  "I  heard  somethin'  about  a 
greaser  up  to  Santy  Fe  making  inquiries  with 
Eastern  firms  about  strontianite — that  old  curio 
dealer — Coravel  Tio!  He  ain't  the  man,  aiblins, 
now?" 

"Yes.  He'll  be  here  to-day,  I  hope.  All 
right,  Sandy,  let  her  hang  over  a  day  or  so.  I 
don't  know  but  what  we  might  consider  it." 

Mrs.  Crump  felt  suddenly  cold  at  that  mention 
of  Coravel  Tio.  How  much  had  he  discovered? 
He  must  have  learned  through  Eastern  connec- 
tions that  Coravel  Tio  had  been  making  inquiries. 
Was  this  pose  of  honesty  a  blind,  or  not?  What 
lay  behind  this  visit?  Had  anything  happened 
to  Thady  Shea? 

She  cursed  herself  furiously  for  having  been 
beguiled  even  into  listening  to  Sandy  Mackin- 
t avers.  Yet — why  not?  His  proposal  offered  no 
loophole  for  trickery.  Mrs,  Crump  would  have 
preferred  to  sell  the  place  entirely;  but  to  retire  in 
security  and  draw  down  fat  dividends  would  be  a 
very  comfortable  thing- 
Late  in  the  afternoon  arrived  Coravel  Tio.  He 
was  mildly  surprised  to  see  Mackintavers.  He 
was  urbane,  shy,  suave,  and  professed  great  igno- 
rance of  everything.  He  readily  listened  to  the 
plan  of  Mackintavers,  and  discussed  it;  but  he 
reserved  any  opinion  on  the  matter. 

Mackintavers  had  sent  his  hired  car  back  to 
Magdalena,  and  would  bunk  with  Gilbert  and 


MACKINTAVERS  MAKES  FRIENDS  209 

Lewis  for  the  night.  Coravel  Tio  had  driven  his 
own  car,  which  was  fitted  with  a  camping  outfit. 
He  made  his  own  little  camp  down  the  canon. 

Late  that  evening,  after  all  hands  had  retired  to 
rest,  Mrs.  Crump  picked  her  way  down  the 
rocky  slope  and  joined  Coravel  Tio,  who  sat 
smoking  beside  his  car. 

"This  here  location  is  gettin'  right  crowded," 
she  began,  irritably,  settling  down  and  filling  her 
corncob.  "No  chance  even  to  speak  a  word  no 
more!  Well,  what  d'ye  think  o'  this  scheme? 
Don't  it  look  to  you  like  Sandy  was  try  in'  to  catch 
us  off  balance  and  topple  us  over?" 

Coravel  Tio  showed  his  white  teeth  in  a  slow 
smile. 

"Senora,  let  us  go  slowly.  Let  us  go  slowly.  I 
really  do  not  think  that  Mackintavers  intends  that 
we  should  consider  his  offer  seriously.  I  think  he 
is  tricky  about  it.  Well,  he  is  about  to  come  to  a 
very  high  precipice,  and  is  about  to  fall  over  that 
precipice;  you  see,  I  know  something.  I  have 
information  of  which  he  is  not  aware.  I  have 
information  which  will  prove  very  dangerous  to 
him. 

"About  the  mine.  I  have  corresponded  with  the 
Williams  Manufacturing  Company  of  New  Jersey, 
who  are  large  manufacturers  of  chemical  products. 
They  will  buy  this  location  outright,  should  it 
prove  up  to  the  samples  we  sent.  They  are  of  the 
very    highest    standing    and    reputation;    I   have 


210  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

dealt  with  them  for  years.  One  of  their  men  is 
due  here  any  day;  in  fact,  he  is  overdue.  His  name 
is  James  Z.  Premble.  He  will  be  empowered  to 
make  full  negotiations  with  us.  Until  he  arrives, 
let  us  not  worry  about  Mackintavers." 

"Mebbe  that's  how  come  Sandy  learned  about 
your  stake  in  the  game;  he  knew  you'd  been 
correspondin'  with  somebody,"  and  Mrs.  Crump 
frowned.  "My  land!  He's  in  with  a  heap  o' 
them  mining  sharps,  Coravel.  They  know  all 
about  each  other." 

Coravel  Tio  smiled  gently.  "Very  likely, 
seflora.  However,  this  firm  is  entirely  above 
suspicion.  Now,  we  must  find  your  friend  Shea 
at  once;  that  is  imperative.  The  property  is 
recorded  in  his  name,  you  remember." 

"Sandy  knows  that,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Crump,  her 
eyes  troubled.  "He  knows  too  damned  much,  if 
you  ask  me/" 

"Fear  not,  senora.  He  has  been  meddling  with 
forbidden  things,  things  which  bring  their  own 
punishment.  He  has  been  meddling  with  things 
that  I  would  not  meddle  with!  By  the  way,  I 
met  a  very  interesting  man  the  other  day;  one 
Thomas  Twofork,  an  Indian  from  the  Cochiti 
pueblo,  recently  returned  from  an  Eastern  college. 
You  would  enjoy  meeting  him.  A  very  fine 
young  man." 

Mrs.  Crump  grunted.  "I'd  admire  to  know 
just  what's  laying  back  in  your  mind,  Coravel 


MACKINTAVERS  MAKES  FRIENDS  211 

Tio!  Now,  why  the  devil  would  I, want  to  know 
any  Injun  buck  like  him?     What's  he  to  me?" 

Coravel  Tio  laughed  softly  and  puffed  at  his 
cigarette. 

"Ah!  I  cannot  say,  senora.  I  am  a  curio 
dealer,  no  more.  I  know  nothing  at  all  about, 
such  things  as  these.  But  I  know  that  Thomas 
Twofork  is  a  very  interesting  man." 

With  the  following  morning  Mrs.  Crump  took 
Mackintavers  over  the  ground  and  the  adjacent 
claims.  Coravel  Tio  complained  of  the  heat,  and 
did  not  accompany  them.  Instead,  he  stood  out 
in  the  sun,  heedless  of  the  heat,  and  watched 
Lewis  and  Gilbert  at  work.  He  talked  with 
them  at  some  length,  and  they  seemed  much 
interested  in  his  discourse.  By  this  time  they 
knew  a  little  more  about  Coravel  Tio  than  they 
had  known  at  their  first  meeting  with  him. 

"What  do  you  figger  is  goin'  to  happen,  then?" 
demanded  Lewis,  when  he  had  finished. 

"I  do  not  know."  Coravel  Tio  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "But  it  is  well  to  know  what  might 
have  to  be  done,  eh?    Ah,  yes." 

The  morning  wore  on.  Mrs.  Crump  retired  to 
her  own  shack  to  cook  luncheon,  with  much 
grumbling  about  the  way  the  country  was  getting 
crowded  up,  and  if  many  more  folks  came  in  she'd 
have  to  seek  other  quarters,  and  so  on.  Secretly, 
she  was  much  pleased  to  exhibit  her  cuHnarj^ 
skill,  which  was  considerable. 


212  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

At  length  she  energetically  hammered  a  pie 
pan,  and  the  four  men  assembled.  Gilbert  was 
the  last  to  come  in  from  the  mine  over  the  flank  of 
the  hogback. 

"Looks  like  some  puncher  is  headed  this  way," 
he  announced,  eagerly.  "Feller  comin'  on  hoss- 
back,  looks  like  he's  headin'  down  from  that  big 
canon  north  of  here." 

"My  land!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Crump  in  dismay. 
"Wait  till  I  get  another  plate  set." 

"No  hurry,"  returned  Gilbert.  "I  seen  him 
top  a  rise  four  mile  north.  Ain't  no  rush,  ma'am. 
He'll  be  quite  a  spell  gettin'  here.  Lots  o'  bad  land 
in  between  and  no  trail." 

They  sat  down  to  the  meal. 

Outside,  the  sun  was  beating  down  in  waves  of 
heat.  It  was  a  pitiless,  insufferable  sun.  Few 
things  could  stand  that  beating,  merciless  sun  and 
still  enjoy  it.  Out  among  the  stones,  what  was 
left  of  the  big  diamond  back  was  withered  and 
scorched.  Some  distance  away,  the  head  of  the 
rattler  lay  among  the  rocks,  dead  jaws  wide  agape, 
white  fangs  gleaming  like  needles  in  the  beating 
sunlight. 

Inside  the  shack,  the  heat  was  intense;  it 
filled  the  canon  as  heat  fills  an  oven,  and  here  was 
no  cool  adobe  walls  to  break  its  force.  The  heat 
had  odd  and  curious  effects  upon  the  five  people 
gathered  there.  It  did  not  seem  to  touch  Coravel 
Tio  or  the  two  miners  in  the  least.     Mackintavers 


MACKENTAVERS  MAKES  FRIENDS  213 

it  coarsened  and  reddened  and  thickened  with 
pitiless  breath.  Mrs.  Crump  it  softened;  flushed 
and  perspiring  from  cooking,  she  seemed  to  have 
become  less  harsh,  more  feminine,  altogether 
transformed. 

Suddenly,  while  they  were  eating,  Coravel 
Tio  looked  up  sharply  and  appeared  to  be  listening. 
Then,  one  after  another,  the  others  glanced  up, 
surprise  in  their  eyes.  The  sharp  and  staccato 
pulse  of  an  approaching  automobile  was  to  be 
heard .     Another  car ! 

Mrs.  Crump  led  the  exodus.  Beside  her  own 
car  and  that  of  Coravel  Tio,  a  third  car  was 
standing;  a  hired  car  from  Magdalena,  the  same 
which  had  brought  Mackintavers  on  the  previous 
day.  From  this  car  alighted  a  man  who  carried  a 
suitcase  and  bag,  upon  each  of  which  were  printed 
the  letters  J.  Z.  P.  He  was  a  man  of  citified 
aspect,  and  he  approached  the  party  clumped 
around  the  shack  doorway  with  a  stiff  gaze  and  a 
businesslike  air. 

"I  am  looking  for  a  lady  by  the  name  of  Crump, 
Mrs.  Crump,"  said  he,  setting  down  his  suitcase 
and  doffing  his  hat  to  the  lady  in  question.  "I 
presume  that  you  are  the  lady  named;  if  so  you 
may  be  expecting  me.  My  name  is  James  Z. 
Premble." 

Mrs.  Crump  recovered  from  her  surprise  and 
stepped  forward. 

"I'm  her,"  she  announced.     "Glad  to  meet  ye, 


214  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

Premble.  Here,  let  me  heft  them  grips  inside  the 
shack." 

Gilbert,  however,  was  ahead  of  her  in  the  task. 
But  James  Z.  Premble  disregarded  them  both. 
He  had  come  to  a  staring  pause.  Across  his  city- 
pale  features  swept  an  expression  of  amazement 
and  gusty  anger.  His  eyes  were  fastened  upon 
Sandy  Mackintavers,  and  back  at  him  was  staring 
Mackintavers,  wearing  a  look  of  consternation, 
Mr.  Premble  lifted  one  arm  and  shook  a  milk- 
white  fist  in  air. 

"You  low-down  hound !"  he  snapped  at  Sandy. 
'Didn't  I  warn  you  to  keep  away  from  me? 
What  are  you  trying  to " 

"Shut  your  fool  mouth!"  roared  Mackintavers. 
"No  need  of  airing  things  here." 

"I'll  say  what  I  dashed  please!"  affirmed 
Premble,  glaring.  "I  suppose  you  own  this 
place,  eh?  I  suppose  you  told  some  lying  tale  and 
these  people  swallowed  it!  Well,  you  can't  shut 
me  up.  You  can't  gag  me!  You're  about  the 
worst  swindler  that  ever  kept  out  of  State's 
prison,  get  that?  You  may  be  running  this 
place,  but  you'll  not  run  me." 

"Hush  up,  pilgrim:"  Mrs.  Crump  stepped  in 
front  of  Premble  and  assumed  charge  of  the 
situation.  "Hush  up:  Sandy  don't  own  this 
place,  and  he  ain't  runnin'  nothin1.  You  a  friend 
of  his?" 

"Friend?     Friend?"     Mr.     Premble    hoarsolv 


MACKINTAVERS  MAKES  FRIENDS  215 

gasped  the  word.  "I  wouldn't  be  his  friend  if  he 
would  give  me  a  million  dollars!  I  wouldn't  be 
his  friend  if  I  was  the  last  man  and  he  was  the  last 
woman  on  earth!  Why,  that  rogue  played  the 
worst  low-down  trick  on  me  over  in  El  Paso 
that " 

"Well,  repress  the  sentiments,"  urged  Mrs. 
Crump,  calmly.  "I  guess  we  coincide  with  your 
feelin's,  more  or  less,  but  at  the  present  moment 
Sandy  is  a  guest  on  this  here  prop'ty,  which  same 
prop'ty  belongs  to  me,  more  or  less.  You're  a 
guest  likewise  and  I  don't  aim  to  have  no  ruction 
start  between  two  o'  my  guests.  I  don't  know 
you,  Mr.  Premble,  and  I  don't  know  as  I  want  to 
know  ye,  having  a  mean  and  rbllin'  eye  like  you 
have;  but  you're  here  on  business  and  that  goes  as 
it  lays.     Xo  war  talk!     Savvy?" 

With  a  mighty  effort  Mr.  Premble  composed  his 
features. 

"Very  well,  madam,  very  well,"  he  returned, 
stiffly.  "You  may  depend  upon  it,  there  will  be 
no  more  trouble — unless  I  meet  this  man  the  other 
side  of  your  property  line." 

"  You  won't,"  said  Mrs.  Crump,  grimly.  "  Come 
on  in  and  set  to  dinner.  Gilbert,  you  done? 
Then  call  that  there  driver  to  come  up  and  have 
a  bite,  will  ye?  Xo  words  out'n  you,  neither, 
Sandy  Mackintavers.  Gents,  come  inside  an' 
smoke  up  and  entertain  Mr.  Premble.  I'll  get 
them  'tatoes  het  up  in  a  mite." 


216  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

First  to  enter  the  shack  was  James  Z.  Premble. 
He  passed  Mackintavers,  standing  at  the  door,  and 
glared  at  him.  Then,  as  he  passed  on  into  the 
shaek,  the  features  of  Mr.  Premble  relaxed  into 
the  fleetest  and  most  momentary  shadow  of  a 
grin. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

DORALES   POSTS   NOTICES 

THE  excitement  caused  by  the  arrival  of 
James  Z.  Premble  caused  everyone  to  for- 
get the  horseman  who  had  been  seen  ap- 
proaching from  the  north.  And  Mr.  Premble, 
somewhat  against  his  inmost  desire,  continued  for 
a  time  to  fill  the  centre  of  the  picture. 

The  assemblage  quite  filled  the  shack — crowded 
it,  in  fact.  Premble,  the  New  Yorker,  barely 
paused  for  introductions  before  diving  into  the 
food  that  Mrs.  Crump  set  before  him.  Lewis  sat 
and  smoked  in  the  lean-to,  by  the  stove;  Gilbert 
lounged  beside  the  door.  Mackintavers  sat  in 
the  corner,  chewing  a  cigar.  Coravel  Tio  was 
rolling  a  cigarette  with  great  care,  and  sighed  a 
little  as  he  licked  it;  leaning  forward,  he  scratched 
a  match  upon  the  floor,  and  took  advantage  of  a 
pause  in  the  conversation  to  address  James  Z. 
Premble. 

"An  odd  name,  senor,"  he  said,  softly.  "A  very 
odd  name!  I  have  never  met  any  one  whose 
initial  was  that  of  Z.  May  I  ask  what  name  it 
stands  for,  senor?" 

Mr.  Premble  looked  at  his  questioner,  and  in 

217 


218  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

his  shrewd  eyes  there  showed  a  swift  and  sudden 
hesitation;  but  Coravel  Tio  was  lighting  his  ciga- 
rette with  much  absorption. 

"Zacariah/'  responded  the  New  Yorker.  "I 
don't  like  the  name,  myself.     Never  use  it." 

"Ah,  yes!  Now  that  I  remember,  I  have  met 
others — there  is  a  name  Zebulon,  I  think,  eh? 
Yes,  Zebulon.  So  you  are  the  gentleman  of  whom 
your  firm  wrote  me,  eh?  I  am  glad  to  meet  you, 
sefior,  very  glad.  You  have  letters  and  so  forth? 
You  see,  I  am  part  owner  of  this  property,  sefior, 
and  while  I  do  not  doubt  you  in  the  least,  I  desire 
to  make  quite  sure  of  things  before  talking 
business." 

Laying  down  his  knife  and  fork,  Premble  once 
again  inspected  Coravel  Tio,  who  was  now  looking 
directly  a,t  him.  Something  in  those  gentle,  mourn- 
ful black  eyes  seemed  to  cause  the  city  man  un- 
easiness and  disquiet.  He  reached  into  his 
pocket,  nodding. 

"Eh?  Sure,  I  have  plenty  of  papers  that  will 
establish  my  identity  and  prove  my  authority  to 
deal  with  you.  A  little  bit  hasty,  aren't  you? 
No  trouble,  though.  Glad  to  have  you  assure 
yourself " 

He  produced  a  sheaf  of  papers  and  passed  them 
intact,  as  though  entirely  certain  of  their  contents, 
to  Mrs.  Crump.  That  lady,  her  keen  blue  eyes 
suddenly  perplexed  and  watchful,  handed  on  the 
papers  to  Coravel  Tio.    The  latter,  in  silence, 


DORALES  POSTS  NOTICES  £19 

began  to  unfold  and  look  at  them,  one  after  an- 
other. Premble  continued  his  meal,  and  fell  to 
talking  with  the  others. 

Presently  Coravel  Tio  came  to  the  end  of  his 
cigarette.  He  rose  and  tossed  the  butt  through 
the  open  doorway,  where  Gilbert  was  lounging. 
His  eyes  snapped  a  message  to  those  of  Gilbert; 
in  turn,  Gilbert  made  a  slight  motion.  Lewis  rose 
and  shoved  aside  the  curtain  from  the  window,  as 
though  desiring  more  air,  and  then  stood  watching. 

Coravel  Tio  returned  to  his  stool.  At  another 
pause  in  the  conversation,  he  tapped  the  refolded 
documents  on  his  knee. 

"These  are  all  correct,  Mr.  Premble,"  he  said, 
gently.  "Do  you  know — ah,  there  is  something 
that  puzzles  me!  Now,  when  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  you  in  Las  Vegas  last  month,  your 
name  was  different;  it  was  Zebulon  and  not 
Zacariah.  And  you  looked  different,  sefior.  Then, 
if  I  remember  rightly,  you  wore  a  moustache,  and 
your  eyes  were  another  colour,  and  you  had  a 
stronger  chin  than  you  have  at  present." 

A  sudden  tense  silence  had  come  upon  the  room. 
James  Z.  Premble  looked  very  red,  then  his 
features  paled  again.  Imperceptibly,  his  right 
hand  fluttered  toward  his  left  armpit. 

"Don't  do  it!"  said  Lewis,  from  the  window,  and 
Mr.  Premble  gazed  into  the  muzzle  of  a  revolver. 
And:  "Go  slow!"  said  Gilbert,  from  the  door- 
way, carelessly  fondling  another  revolver.     Mr. 


220  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

James  Z.  Premble  set  both  hands  upon  the  table  in 
front  of  him. 

The  chauffeur,  seeing  the  general  trend  of 
events,  quietly  slid  from  his  stool  and  vanished 
beneath  the  table.  Mrs.  Crump  sat  motionless, 
looking  from  one  person  to  another.  Sandy 
Mackintavers  swallowed  hard  and  made  as  if  to 
rise,  but  Lewis  shifted  eyes  and  weapon  slightly, 
and  Sandy  changed  his  mind  about  moving. 

"I  was  afraid  of  something  like  this."  The 
voice  of  Coravel  Tio  was  gently  apologetic.  "  You 
see,  the  real  James  Zebulon  Premble  always  keeps 
his  engagements  to  the  minute — unless  something 
has  happened  to  him.  He  is  now  two  days  over- 
due here.  Of  course,  it  would  be  possible  for  an- 
other man  to  waylay  him  and  to  obtain  his  papers ; 
it  would  be  quite  possible  for  that  other  man  to 
come  here  under  the  name  of  Premble,  and  to 
carry  out  a  slight  business  transaction." 

"Smooth  guy,  aren't  you?"  sneered  Premble. 
"You'll  have  a  hell  of  a  time  proving  anything  on 
me!" 

"My  dear  senor,  I  don't  want  to  prove  any- 
thing on  you!"  said  Coravel  Tio  in  pained  sur- 
prise. "No,  no,  far  from  it!  But  I  suspect  that 
a  certain  firm  by  the  name  of  the  Williams  Manu- 
facturing Company,  a  firm  that  is  very  jealous 
of  its  reputation,  might  like  to  know  that  you  are 
in  its  employ.  Si!  Of  course,  you'll  not  reveal 
to  us  for  whom  you  are  working?  " 


DORALES  POSTS  NOTICES         221 

"I've  nothing  to  say,"  sullenly  returned 
Premble.     He  looked  much  perturbed. 

"Very  well.  Gilbert,  take  the  gun  from  the 
senor's  left  armpit  and  lead  him  to  his  automobile. 
Tie  him  in  his  automobile  and  allow  him  to  repose 
in  peaceful  meditation.  That  is  all.  Young  man, 
kindly  come  from  beneath  the  table  and  resume 
your  meal!" 

The  chauffeur,  looking  sheepish,  crawled  into 
view  again.  Gilbert  fulfilled  the  orders  that  had 
been  given  him,  and  departed  with  Mr.  Premble. 

Sandy  Mackint  avers,  although  trying  to  appear 
impassive  and  unconcerned,  signally  failed  in  his 
endeavour.  He  was  completely  astounded,  swept 
off  his  feet,  by  the  falling  of  Coravel  Tio's  mask. 
He  was  suddenly  aware  of  the  fact  that  in  Coravel 
Tio  he  had  a  damnably  clever  antagonist. 

Now,  too  late,  Sandy  began  to  suspect  a  thou- 
sand things  that  did  not  appear  on  the  surface. 
Conjectures  flitted  through  his  brain.  Suspicion 
that  the  hand  of  Coravel  Tio  was  a  very  powerful 
hand,  and  that  this  hand  was  set  against  him, 
deepened  into  hard  certainty.  Yet — not  even 
Coravel  Tio  could  know  the  truth!  No  one 
could  know  that  Mackintavers  and  the  false 
Premble  were  friends,  were  working  in  concert! 
There  was  yet  hope. 

"Aiblins,  now,  there's  no  tellin'  about  these 
mining  sharks!"  observed  Sandy  in  righteous 
accents.     "I've  had  experiences  of  my  own  in  that 


222  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

line,  aye!  But  if  you're  willing  to  talk  over  the 
proposition  we  discussed  last  night " 

Coravel  Tio  looked  at  him.  Coravel  Tio 
laughed  gently,  softly,  very  acridly. 

"My  dear  senor!"  he  said.  "You  knew  about 
the  real  Premble  and  his  business  here.  Your 
friend  met  the  real  Premble  and  did  his  work  very 
well.  You  planned  things  nicely.  You  came 
and  made  us  your  proposition,  knowing  that  we 
would  refuse  it,  knowing  that  we  would  be  assured 
that  you  and  Premble  were  at  enmity;  knowing 
that  we  would  sell  out  to  Senor  Premble — eh? 
And  Premble  would  buy  the  mine  for  you.  Ah, 
yes! 

"It  was  very  cleverly  planned,  and  very  well 
executed.  But  now,  senor,  you  had  better  go  and 
sit  beside  your  friend,  and  be  driven  back  to  town 
with  him.  There  I  think  that  you  will  receive 
some  interesting  information.  I  would  like  to  tell 
you  about  it  myself,  but " 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Crump  came  to  her  feet. 
She  understood  the  whole  trick  at  last,  she  under- 
stood the  deep  cunning  of  Mackintavers,  and  she 
was  white  with  fury. 

"Coravel  Tio,  this  skunk  sure  makes  me  blush 
to  see  him !  Now,  I  am  to  give  him  a  right  good 
hidm',  which  same  he  deserves  plenty.  Get  out- 
side, ye  coyote — hustle!" 

From  the  wall  Mrs.  Crump  seized  her  trusty 
blacksnake.     Thoroughly  alarmed,  Mackintavers 


DORALES  POSTS  NOTICES  223 

attempted  no  protests  but  backed  through  the 
doorway.  Before  the  lady,  however,  uprose  Cora- 
vel  Tio,  and  his  hand  restrained  her  from  pursuit. 

"No,"  he  said,  softly,  looking  into  her  eyes.  "I 
have  reasons,  senora;  good  reasons." 

Mrs.  Crump  flushed,  then  paled  again.  Re- 
straint came  hard  to  her. 

"I  aim  to  punish  him,"  she  rasped. 

"That  is  already  arranged."  Coravel  Tio 
smiled  at  her.  "That  has  been  arranged — by  the 
gods  of  the  San  Marcos.  You  will,  please,  leave 
everything  in  my  hands,  senora.  Everything!  I 
wish  to  handle  everything  here  to-day.  Every- 
thing!" 

Mrs.  Crump  stared  at  him,  puzzled.  Then  she 
tossed  away  the  whip. 

"All  right,"  she  assented,  sullenly,  angrily.  "I 
won't  say  another  damned  word." 

By  this  time,  Mackintavers  was  somewhere 
outside.  Lewis  still  stood  by  the  window.  Gil- 
bert was  presumably  down  at  the  automobiles 
with  his  prisoner. 

But  now  the  voice  of  Gilbert  came  to  them.  It 
was  lifted  in  a  shout  of  surprise,  a  shout  of  ag- 
grieved anger  and  amazement. 

"Hey!  Hey,  you  feller!  What  the  hell  you 
doin'  there?  Hey,  Mis'  Crump!  Hustle  out 
here!" 

Those  in  the  shack  hastened  outside — all 
except  the  chauffeur.     Scenting  further  trouble, 


224  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

that  gentleman  grabbed  his  plate  and  again 
retired  beneath  the  table,  to  finish  his  meal  in 
security. 

As  Mrs.  Crump,  standing  out  in  the  sunlight, 
surveyed  the  situation,  she  became  aware  that  the 
previously  discerned  horseback  rider  had  arrived. 
He  had  evidently  ridden  right  over  the  long  flank 
of  the  hogback,  past  the  mine  workings,  into  the 
canon.  Fifty  yards  up  the  canon,  fifty  yards 
above  the  two  shacks,  lay  a  horse  that  was  weary 
unto  death,  a  horse  that  had  been  ridden  hard  and 
furiously,  without  mercy. 

Not  far  from  the  horse  was  something  white. 
This  was  a  piece  of  new,  white  paper  that  had  been 
fastened  to  Mrs.  Crump's  original  location  notice. 

Down  below  the  shacks,  between  them  and  the 
automobiles,  was  another  scrap  of  white;  another 
piece  of  white  paper  fastened  over  another  loca- 
tion notice.  Standing  only  a  few  yards  from  the 
shack,  and  hurriedly  talking  to  Mackintavers, 
stood  the  rider  who  had  just  arrived.  The  man 
was  Abel  Dorales.  He  had  just  put  up  those  two 
notices,  and  he  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  the 
threatening  approach  of  Gilbert. 

"Dorales!"  gasped  Mrs.  Crump,  and  whirled. 
"  Lewis !    Here !     Gi'me  that  gun ! " 

"Stop!"  Coravel  Tio  grasped  her  arm.  "Stop, 
senora !  Force  does  nothing.  Leave  things  in  my 
hands,  si  servase!  Lewis,  go  and  tell  Gilbert  to  be 
quiet — pronto  /" 


DORALES  POSTS  NOTICES  225 

The  potently  gentle  voice  of  Coravel  Tio  held 
firm  command.  He  was  obeyed.  Gilbert  stood 
motionless,  scowling;  Mrs.  Crump  stayed  her  hand. 

Mackintavers  walked  quickly  toward  Mrs. 
Crump  and  Coravel  Tio;  eagerness  shone  in  his 
eves,  and  exultation.  Behind  him  strode  Abel 
Dorales,  fixedly  regarding  Mrs.  Crump.  The 
half-breed's  features  were  thinly  cruel;  his  nostrils 
quivered  slightly;  a  shadowy  smile  curved  his 
lips  into  sneering  lines. 

Gilbert  turned  and  walked  toward  the  new 
notice  posted  by  Dorales. 

"Just  got  some  news,"  said  Mackintavers, 
jerkily.  "Abel  is  goin'  to  stay  and  tell  ye  bout  it. 
I  don't  s'pose  ye  got  any  objection  if  I  light  out  for 
Magdalena,  aiblins,  now?" 

Coravel  Tio  was  rolling  a  cigarette,  quite 
unconcernedly.     He  flashed  Sandy  a  smile. 

"Object?  Why  should  we  object,  sefior?  By 
all  means,  go!  And  take  your  friend  with  you, 
your  friend  whose  name  is  Zacariah  and  not 
Zebulon.     Vaya  con  Dios,  sefior  / " 

Mackintavers  was  plainly  in  haste  to  be  off. 
He  called  to  the  chauffeur,  who  came  from  the 
shack  and  joined  him.  Together  the  two  walked 
rapidly  toward  the  car  wherein  was  reposing  the 
bogus  James  Z.  Premble. 

"Y'ain't  goin'  to  let  them  varmints  go?"  Mrs. 
Crump  surveyed  Coravel  Tio  with  pleading 
indignation.     "After  them  tryin' " 


226  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

Gracefully,  Coravel  Tio  waved  his  cigarette. 
"£z,  sehora!  Let  them  go.  Let  them  both  go. 
There  are  larger  things,  much  larger  things, 
awaiting  us." 

"But  that  feller  Premble!" 

"Let  them  both  go,  senora.  We  have  larger 
things  ahead." 

Mrs.  Crump  sniffed  in  uncomprehending  dis- 
gust; but  she  gave  tacit  assent. 

The  engine  of  the  car  began  to  whir;  the  whir 
became  a  roaring  hum,  then  a  deep  vibrant 
thrumming  that  lifted  through  the  canon.  The 
car,  with  its  three  men,  moved  away  and  leaped 
into  speed. 

"Hey!"  The  voice  of  Gilbert,  who  had  been 
reading  the  new  location  notice,  drifted  up  to 
them.  "Hey!  This  guy  is  jumpin'  our  claim! 
He's  posted  notices  in  the  name  o'  Mackintavers. 
What  the  hell!" 

"Come  up  here,  Gilbert,"  said  Coravel  Tio, 
"and  keep  quiet.  We  are  to  hear  some  news. 
Ah,  Sefior  Dorales,  have  you  lunched?  We  are 
glad  to  welcome  you." 

Dorales  did  not  reply.  He  did  not  move,  but 
upon  his  lips  lingered  that  thin,  shadowy  smile 
that  was  like  the  stamp  of  a  cruel  jeer.  Gilbert 
heavily  came  up  and  rejoined  the  others. 

They  stood  there  at  the  doorway  of  the  shack — 
Mrs.  Crump,  Coravel  Tio,  Gilbert,  and  Lewis. 
Facing  them  stood  Abel  Dorales ;  he  seemed  to  be 


DORALES  POSTS  NOTICES  2-27 

waiting  until  the  automobile  should  have  gotten 
away  beyond  pursuit.  Already  it  was  a  dot, 
lessening  amid  a  trail  of  dust.  In  the  bearing  of 
Abel  Dorales  was  a  commanding  air,  a  deep 
significance,  a  sneering  sense  of  power.  He  was  in 
no  hurry  to  explain. 

The  sun  beat  down  in  vertical,  sickening  waves ; 
the  heat  was  suffocating,  insufferable.  It  filled 
the  canon  like  an  oven.  To  the  left  Jay  the  spent 
horse,  panting,  loose-tongued,  exhausted,  unable 
even  to  reach  the  trickle  o,f  water  below.  No 
other  thing  moved  within  sight.  Behind  and 
above  rose  the  long*  hogback  that  formed  the 
north  wall  of  the  canon.  It  shut  out  from  view  all 
that  lay  beyond,  all  that  lay  over  toward  the 
mountains  and  the  larger  canon  that  drew  out 
from  the  mountains  to  the  north. 

The  ground  seemed  to  radiate  heat  in  shimmer- 
ing waVes.  To  one  side  la*y  the  dry  and  withered 
body  of  the  rattler  Mrs.  Crump  had  killed — what 
was  left  by  the  preying  tiny  things  of  the  earth. 
Somewhere  among  the  rocks  lay  that  reptilian 
head,  what  was  left  of  it.  Inconspicuous  it  was, 
unseen,  dead  jaws  agape  and  long  fangs  glimmering 
like  needles  in  the  hot,  sickening  sunlight. 

"Yes,"  said  Abel  Dorales  at  last.  "Yes.  I 
have  some  news  for  you." 

He  ignored  that  offer  of  luncheon.  He  ignored 
the  lowering,  menacing  looks  of  Lewis  and  Gilbert. 
He  ignored  the  suave  Coravel  Tio.     He  fixedly 


228  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

regarded  Mrs.  Crump,  hatred  flaming  in  his  dark 
eyes  and  quivering  at  his  nostrils.  He  had  hated 
her  from  the  depths  of  his  soul  ever  since  that  day 
he  had  jumped  her  claim  over  in  the  Mogollons, 
that  day  when  she  had  shot  him  down  like  a  dog. 

There  was  nothing  melodramatic  in  his  bearing. 
He  was  grimed  with  dust  and  dirt.  He  was 
perspiring  profusely;  his  lined  and  evil  face  was 
streaming  with  sweat  against  its  sleek  bronze.  He 
had  ridden  hard,  and  he  was  tired. 

Suddenly  he  shifted  his  gaze  and  looked  around, 
to  right  and  left,  at  the  shimmering  and  empty 
canon.  He  looked  at  the  farther  hill  on  the  other 
side.  He  looked  up  at  the  long  hogback  which 
closed  in  those  five  persons,  shutting  out  all  the 
rest  of  the  world  like  a  vast  door  of  rock.  He 
looked  up  toward  the  mountain  peaks  that  showed 
above  the  head  of  the  canon.  Some  inward  sense 
seemed  to  whisper  to  him  a  warning  against 
eavesdroppers;  but  all  the  visible  world  was 
glowing  with  insufferable  heat,  and  was  deserted. 
His  eyes  gleamed  with  satisfaction. 

"What  for  ye  postin'  notices  on  my  lands?" 
demanded  Mrs.  Crump.  "Hull?  How  come  ye 
sent  Mackintavers  off  to  file  the  claims  at  the 
recordin'  office,  huh?  What  ye  expect  to  gain  by 
all  that  fool  play,  huh?  Speak  up,  ye  mangy 
dog!" 

Abel  Dorales  looked  at  her,  and  smiled  thinly. 
"One  moment,"  he  said. 


DORALES  POSTS  NOTICES         229 

Turning,  AJbel  Dorales  strode  up  the  canon  to 
where  lay  his  exhausted  horse.  The  poor  brute 
made  a  painful  struggle  as  if  to  rise;  forefeet,  neck, 
and  shoulders  heaved  convulsively,  then  collapsed 
again.  Abel  Dorales  kicked  the  horse  with 
contempt.  From  the  saddle  he  took  a  battered 
little  yellow  suitcase  which  had  been  tied  there 
and  he  started  back. 

At  a  word  from  Coravel  Tio,  the  others  moved 
into  the  slender  shadow  cast  by  the  north  side  of 
the  shack,  the  side  that  faced  uphill  to  the  hog- 
back. There  Abel  Dorales  rejoined  them.  There 
he  set  the  battered  little  suitcase  on  the  ground. 

"I  should  have  given  this  to  Sandy,"  he  said, 
"but  I  forgot  it.  Now,  Mrs.  Crump,  your  friend 
Shea  stole  this  from  the  ranch  of  Mackintavers. 
Here  is  what  he  stole." 

With  a  swift  movement  he  opened  the  suitcase 
and  dumped  out  the  seven  stone  gods.  They 
strewed  the  ground  in  grotesque  attitudes.  One 
fell  upright,  grinning  stonily  as  if  delighted  by  the 
feat.     Dorales  tossed  the  little  suitcase  away. 

"Ait,  yes!"  It  was  Coravel  Tio  who  spoke, 
unexpectedly.  He  spoke  as  though  in  recognition. 
"The  gods  of  the  San  Marcos!  But  you  are 
wrong,  senor.  Our  friend  Shea  did  not  steal  these 
tilings.  They  were  stolen  by  a  Navaho,  a  buck 
who  was  hired  to  steal  them  because  he  knew  the 
ranch  house  of  Mackintavers  very  well.  He  was 
hired  by  Thomas  Twofork,  who  comes  from  the 


230  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

Cochiti  pueblo.  These  gods  were  the  gods  of  the 
San  Marcos,  you  understand,  and  they  were  the 
gods  of  Thomas  Twofork's  fathers.  That  Navaho 
buck  was  killed  in  an  accident.  How  Sefior  Shea 
obtained  these  gods,  I  do  not  know." 

Dorales  laughed. 

"It  doesn't  matter  particularly  now.     Anyway 
we'll  concede  that  Shea  didn't  steal  them,  eh? 
All  right.     Sandy  wanted  these  gods  back,  so  I 
fetched  them  along.     In  my  hurry  to  get  this 
property  located,  I  forgot  to  give  them " 

"Where's  Thady  Shea?"  cried  out  Mrs.  Crump, 
suddenly.     "  Where  is  he?  " 

Abel  Dorales  looked  at  .her,  his  lips  curving  in 
cruel  enjoyment. 

"Dead.  This  location  was  in  his  name.  I 
believe  that  he  is  without  heirs;  since  he  is  dead,  I 
believe  that  his  location  reverts  to  the  govern- 
ment. Whoever  is  first  to  file  upon  it,  gets  it. 
You  see?  The  notices  have  been  posted.  Sandy 
has  gone  to  file  the  location — now  do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"Liar!"  Mrs.  Crump  flung  the  word  at  him 
in  blind,  gasping  incredulity.  "He  ain't  dead! 
Thady  Shea  ain't  dead!" 

"Oh,  you  need  not  blame  me!"  said  Dorales, 
and  laughed  again.  "I  followed  him,  yes;  but  I 
came  too  late.  I  found  him  in  a  canon  over  on  the 
divide — Beaver  Canon." 

"There  was  a  Mexican  refugee  camped  there 


DORALES  POSTS  NOTICES  231 

with  his  family;  a  sheep-herder.  Shea  had  come 
and  had  drunk  mescal.  He  had  become  drunk, 
beastly  drunk.  I  am  not  certain  of  what  took 
place,  because  unfortunately  I  arrived  too  late — 
but  the  woman  was  dead,  and  Shea  had  fallen 
over  the  edge  of  a  gully,  breaking  his  neck.  He 
had  been  shot,  also.  I  think  the  woman  must 
have  shot  him — first." 

Under  the  lash  of  these  slow  words,  delivered 
with  a  frightful  appearance  of  truth,  Mrs.  Crump 
had  gone  quite  livid.  A  hoarse,  inarticulate  growl 
came  from  her  throat.  The  mortal  pallor  of  a 
fury  beyond  all  control  came  upon  her;  she 
trembled  with  sheer  passion. 

Then  she  started  forward — but  the  hand  of 
Coravel  Tio  gripped  into  her  wrist. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

DORALES  RUNS  AWAY 

LOOK!"  said  the  soft  voice  of  Coravel  Tio. 
"Look  up  at  the  skyline!"  Mrs.  Crump 
-«  tore  herself  free  from  that  restraining  hand 
— but  she  looked.  She  looked  up,  beyond  Abel 
Dorales,  above  Abel  Dorales,  at  the  line  of  the 
hogback  that  cleaved  across  the  hot  blue  sky. 
She  stood  thus,  looking,  wonder  upon  her. 

There,  clear-cut  and  sharp  against  the  quivering 
blue  sky,  appeared  three  figures.  They  were  the 
figures  of  a  horse  and  two  men;  one  of  the  men 
carried  a  bundle  in  his  arms.  This  last  figure  sank 
again  from  sight  almost  instantly,  as  did  that  of  the 
horse.  The  figure  of  the  other  man  came  down 
the  steep  slope,  came  down  swiftly  and  eagerly. 

Abel  Dorales  saw  Mrs.  Crump  look  upward. 
He  saw  the  others  follow  her  gaze,  saw  the  startled 
and  wondering  surmise  that  filled  their  eyes.  He 
turned,  catlike,  and  looked.  He  stared  at  that 
tall  figure,  whose  clothes  were  torn  and  dishevelled, 
whose  forehead  was  streaked  by  the  raw,  red 
brand  of  a  hot  bullet.  He  stared  at  that  figure, 
which  was  coming  down  the  hillside  rapidly  toward 
him. 

232 


DORALES  RUNS  AWAY  233 

"Dios!"  he  whispered,  throatily.  "Jesus 
Maria!" 

He  crossed  himself;  the  gesture  was  made  in 
terrible,  spasmodic  haste.  His  arms  flung  out 
wide,  palms  backward  as  though  in  search  of  some 
support.  He  took  a  retreating  step,  and  another, 
as  that  tall  figure  strode  down  at  him;  he  backed 
against  a  bowlder  and  stood  thus,  staring.  His 
brown  face  became  ghastly  pale,  his  mouth  opened 
in  slavering  horror. 

In  his  madness  there  was  reason.  He  had  come 
here  quickly,  very  quickly,  after  shooting  Thady 
Shea  and  seeing  him  topple  into  that  gully;  he 
knew  that  no  other  man  could  walk  here  and 
arrive  so  soon  after  he  had  arrived  himself.  He 
knew  that  this  tall  figure  with  the  raw,  red  brand 
across  the  brow  could  be  no  living  man. 

"Que  quiere?"  he  cried,  huskily,  with  a  great 
effort  forcing  his  vocal  chords  to  do  their  work. 
"Que  quiere?     What  do  you  want,  hell  dweller?" 

Mrs.  Crump,  who  did  not  believe  in  ghosts,  and 
who  was  not  easily  shaken  off  her  balance,  satisfied 
herself  that  it  was  really  Thady  Shea  who  ap- 
proached. Then  she  slipped  to  the  doorway  of 
the  shack  and  picked  up  the  blacksnake  whip 
which  she  had  tossed  away.  She  stood  at  the 
corner  of  the  shack,  waiting,  watching  Abel 
Dorales,  her  lips  grimly  clenched  into  a  thin  line. 
She  was  quite  content  to  let  Thady  Shea  settle  his 
own  score  with  the  man. 


234  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

Thady  came  forward,  wordless,  his  gaze  fastened 
upon  Dorales,  deep  anger  gleaming  in  those  in- 
tensely black  eyes.  Abel  Dorales,  ashen  white, 
edged  around  the  side  of  the  bowlder.  His  hand 
drifted  to  his  pocket;  it  flashed  up  agam  with  a 
revolver. 

But  as  Abel  Dorales  swung  down  that  revolver, 
as  he  drew  down  on  Thady  Shea  for  a  desperate 
ghost-quelling  shot,  something  snaked  out  through 
the  air — something  that  seemed  to  leap  from  the 
expert  arm  of  Mehitabel  Crump.  It  curled  about 
the  wrist  of  Abel  Dorales,  it  curled  and  clung  with 
vicious  snap  about  his  hand  and  fingers;  as  the 
head  of  a  rattlesnake  is  snapped  and  tugged  from 
his  body  with  one  whipcrack,  so  the  revolver  was 
torn  from  the  hand  of  Dorales  and  sent  flying  out 
upon  the  stones. 

Thady  Shea  flung  himself  upon  Dorales. 

As  has  been  previously  seen,  Thady  Shea  knew 
nothing  about  the  science  and  art  of  fighting.  His 
was  a  blind,  primitive,  untutored  lust  for  venge- 
ance. He  had  heard  that  resonant  voice  telling 
the  story  of  his  death;  he  had  heard,  lifting  to  him 
above  the  crest  of  the  hogback,  that  false  tale 
designed  to  blacken  his  memory,  and  now  he 
plunged  headlong  at  Abel  Dorales,  angered  as  he 
had  never  been  angered  in  his  life. 

Stricken  and  all  unstrung  by  what  he  had  taken 
to  be  an  apparition,  Abel  Dorales  tried  to  stumble 
away,  cowering.     But  in  a  moment  the  furious, 


DORALES  RUNS  AWAY  235 

clumsy  blows  of  Thady  Shea  proved  that  here  was 
real  flesh  and  blood;  Shea  landed  one  smash  that 
all  but  stove  in  the  ribs  of  his  enemy.  In  his  arms 
was  terrific  strength,  had  he  but  known  how  to  use  it. 
Perhaps  it  was  as  well  that  the  knowledge  was  lack- 
ing, elseDorales  had  died  very  brutally  and  quickly. 

Still  retreating,  Dorales  gathered  himself  to- 
gether and  faced  the  storm.  He  saw  that  this 
was  no  ghost,  but  a  man  of  flesh  and  blood — a 
man  very  weary,  very  terrible,  a  man  whose  con- 
suming anger  swept  away  all  sense  of  bodily 
hurt  and  weariness.  Dorales  blocked  the  furious 
blows,  then,  most  incautiously,  allowed  Thady 
Shea  to  clinch. 

That  was  near  to  being  the  death  of  Dorales, 
for  now  the  terrific  strength  of  Thady  Shea  poured 
forth  like  a  flood.  The  two  men  locked,  reeled 
back  and  forth,  went  plunging  down  to  the  stones. 
They  rolled  down  the  hillside;  they  fought  with 
utter  madness — yet  ever  the  steel  arms  were 
tightening  about  the  body  of  Dorales,  ever  the 
ribs  of  Dorales  were  cracking  and  giving  inward. 

In  that  primitive  and  sickening  struggle,  neither 
man  saw  or  gave  heed  to  anything  else  than  the 
face  of  his  foe.  Neither  man  observed  that,  as 
they  upheaved  and  rolled  again,  they  had  come 
upon  something  that  gleamed  like  needles  in  the 
sunlight;  something  wide  and  gaping  that  lay 
there  unseen  and  inconspicuous  among  the  stones. 

Desperate,  feeling  the  very  life  wrenching  out 


236  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

of  him,  Abel  Dorales  flung  loose  one  arm  and 
attempted  to  clutch  a  stone,  wherewith  to  batter 
at  the  deadly  face  above  him.  The  two  men 
writhed  again,  heaved  upward,  fell  heavily  in  a 
twisted  mass.  Something  thin  and  piercing,  some- 
thing that  gleamed  like  white  needles  in  the  sun- 
light, ripped  the  skin  of  Dorales'  outfiung  arm. 
Upon  that  arm  fell  all  the  plunging  weight  of 
Thady  Shea,  grinding  it  down  upon  the  stones, 
grinding  with  it  the  gaping  jaws  of  that  rattler's 
head,  grinding  arm  and  jaws  until  the  skin,  from 
wrist  to  elbow,  was  burst  and  ripped  asunder  as 
cloth  is  ripped  before  a  knife. 

The  pain  of  this  unseen,  blind  hurt  fired  Dorales 
into  frantic  efforts.  He  flung  Shea  backward; 
he  hammered  in  one  blow  and  another,  rocking 
back  Shea's  head  and  blinding  him.  Dorales 
gained  his  feet  once  more,  writhing  free,  panting. 
He  was  freed  of  Shea's  grip.  His  arm  was  drip- 
ping blood.  Dorales  looked  down  at  Thady  Shea, 
who  was  weakly  rising  to  throw  himself  forward 
anew — then  Abel  Dorales  turned.  He  turned  and 
ran,  bounding  and  sliding  to  the  canon  floor  in 
great  leaps,  running  wildly  and  blindly  past  the 
two  autombiles,  running  from  the  vengeance  of  the 
man  whom  he  had  tried  to  murder,  the  man  who 
now  seemed  to  be  more  than  man.  But  Thady 
Shea  did  not  pursue,  for  now  weakness  and  dizzi- 
ness had  come  upon  him,  and  after  two  steps  Shea 
fell  forward. 


DORALES  RUNS  AWAY  237 

From  the  doorway  of  the  shack  came  a  sharp 
report;  a  fleck  of  dust  lifted,  slightly  to  one  side  of 
the  running  figure  of  Dorales.  There  came  a 
second  report,  and  a  fleck  of  dust  lifted  from  be- 
tween the  running  feet  of  Dorales.  Mrs.  Crump 
was  throwing  down  for  the  third  and  final  shot 
when  Coravel  Tio  wrenched  her  arm  aside. 

"For  the  love  of  Heaven,  stop!"  cried  Coravel 
Tio.  "No  murder,  sefiora!  Go  and  look  after 
Shea — quick!" 

He  tore  the  revolver  away  from  her;  then  he 
watched  Abel  Dorales  until  the  half-breed  turned 
a  bend  in  the  canon  and  was  lost  to  sight. 

Gilbert  and  Lewis  had  run  to  lift  Thady  Shea, 
and  Mrs.  Crump  joined  them.  Tears  shone  upon 
her  cheeks  as  Thady  Shea  came  to  his  feet  and 
faintly  smiled  at  her.  His  lips  moved,  and  a  pant- 
ing whisper  reached  her  ears. 

"The  baby— look  after-— her!  I — knew — you 
wouldn't  mind ' 

"  Carry  him  into  the  shack,  ye  galoots ! "  snapped 
Mrs.  Crump,  crisply,  one  hand  dabbing  the  tears 
from  her  eyes.  "Can't  you  see  his  mind's  wan- 
derin'?     Hurry  up,  now!" 

Despite  Shea's  protest,  they  obeyed  her  man- 
date. She  followed  them  as  far  as  the  shack 
doorway,  then  paused.  Another  man  had  come 
down  from  the  hogback,  had  suddenly  appeared 
from  nowhere,  and  was  talking  with  Coravel  Tio; 
another  man,  tall  and  swarthy  of  face,  behind 


238  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

whom  followed  a  saddled  pony.     The  pony  was 
very  weary. 

It  was  not  the  man  at  whom  Mrs.  Crump -looked, 
however.  It  was  the  bundle  in  his  arms  which 
drew  her  startled  attention — that  bundle  was 
unmistakably  a  baby!  She  realized  that  Thady 
Shea  had  not  been  wandering  in  his  mind  after  all. 
It  was  a  baby,  a  little  brown  baby  who  was  cooing 
and  laughing  in  the  face  of  Coravel  Tio. 

Hastily,  Mrs.  Crump  stepped  forward,  Coravel 
Tio  turned  to  meet  her. 

"Seiiora,  this  is  my  friend  Thomas  Twofork, 
of  whom  I  told  you.  He  has  been  following  those 
gods  of  the  San  Marcos,  and  now  he  has  found 
them." 

Coravel  Tio  gestured  toward  the  earth,  where 
lay  the  seven  stone  gods  sprawled  in  grotesque 
attitudes,  one  alone  being  upright,  grinning 
stonily.  But  Mrs.  Crump  paid  no  heed  to  him 
or  to  the  smiling  Thomas  Twofork.  From  the 
latter 's  infolding  arms  she  seized  the  baby  with 
a  sudden  and  fierce  gesture. 

"Where'd  ye  get  it?  Where'd  Thady  Shea 
get  it?"  she  demanded,  sharply. 

Thomas  Twofork,  standing  there  in  the  sun- 
light, told  his  story,  while  Mrs.  Crump  fondled 
the  baby  with  admiration  and  kindliness  growing 
in  her  keen  blue  eyes. 

Thomas  Twofork  had  located  that  battered 
yellow   suitcase  at  the  Hotel  Aragon,  had   seen 


DORALES  RUNS  AWAY  239 

Thady  Shea  depart  with  it — and  had  found  the 
fan  belt  on  his  own  car  broken.  While  repairing 
it,  he  had  become  aware  that  Dorales  was  also 
on  the  trail  of  Shea.  Dorales  had  started  west- 
ward, and  after  him,  Twofork. 

Dorales  had  not  gone  on  to  St  Johns,  but  had 
followed  the  tracks  of  Murray's  car  when  it 
turned  off  on  the  trail  to  Old  Fort  Tularosa  and 
Aragon.  He  had  met  Murray's  car  returning 
without  Thady  Shea,  and  had  hastened  on  into 
Aragon;  by  the  time  he  discovered  that  Shea  had 
not  been  here,  and  had  exchanged  his  car  for  a 
horse,  much  time  was  lost. 

Dorales  had  gone  back  along  the  trail,  had 
picked  up  Shea's  track  at  daybreak,  and  had  fol- 
lowed; after  Dorales  had  gone  Thomas  Twofork, 
patiently  unhurrying.  Both  men  had  met  the 
ranger  returning  to  town  with  the  murderer, 
Garcia,  and  had  learned  Shea's  route. 

When  Dorales  had  fired  that  shot  in  the  night, 
Twofork  had  been  waiting,  had  seen  the  act  too 
late  to  prevent  it.  Dorales  had  at  once  taken 
the  yellow  suitcase,  pushing  forward  without 
delay.  Thomas  Twofork  had  found  Thady  Shea 
in  the  gully,  creased  by  the  bullet,  but  un wounded, 
battered  by  the  fall  but  sound  of  wind  and  limb. 
With  Shea  in  the  saddle,  holding  the  baby,  Thomas 
Twofork  had  followed  the  trail  of  Dorales  quickly 
and  unerringly. 

The  remainder  was  briefly  told.     Knowing  that 


240  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

the  hogback  hid  all  the  country  beyond  the  view 
of  those  in  the  canon,  Thady  Shea  had  waited 
until  Dorales  had  ridden  down  into  the  canon, 
then  had  come  on  with  Thomas  Twofork.  Un- 
seen, the  two  men  had  arrived,  had  waited;  at 
the  right  moment,  Thady  Shea  had  made  his  ap- 
pearance. As  Thomas  Twofork  told  it,  the  whole 
story  was  very  simple,  all  very  prosaic.  But  to 
those  who  had  waited  by  the  shack  in  the  canon, 
it  had  not  been  simple  or  prosaic.  It  had  been 
very  tragic  and  very  terrible. 

"So  work  the  gods!"  Coravel  Tio  tossed 
away  his  cigarette.  "Thomas  Twofork,  here  are 
the  gods  of  your  fathers;  they  are  yours  to  take 
back  to  Cochiti.  They  have  brought  disaster 
upon  Mackintavers  and  Dorales;  they  have 
brought  us  good  blessings.  And  presently  will 
come  the  real  Premble,  senora,  to  buy  this  mine  of 
ours." 

"What  was  that  ye  threatened  Sandy  about?" 
demanded  Mrs.  Crump,  looking  up  from  the  baby 
for  the  first  time.  "That  information  ye  men- 
tioned?" 

"Oh,  that!"  Coravel  Tio  laughed  gently.  "The 
grand  jury  is  sitting  at  Santa  Fe.  I  arranged  a 
few  things;  a  few  affidavits,  chief  among  them 
that  of  Sefior  Cota,  one  of  our  native  legislators. 
I  am  confident  that  by  this  time  Sandy  Mackin- 
tavers has  been  indicted  for  bribery  and  other 
things.     When   he   reaches   Magdalena,   he    will 


DORALES  RUNS  AWAY  241 

find  officers  waiting  for  him.  That  is  all.  He 
paid  too  much  attention  to  the  gods  of  the  San 
Marcos,  and  not  enough  attention  to  business. 
Ah,  yes!  Now,  I  am  very  curious  to  find  what 
made  so  much  blood  upon  the  arm  of  Abel  Dorales. 
I  wonder,  now!** 

He  beckoned  to  Thomas  Twofork.  The  two 
men  walked  away,  their  eyes  intent  upon  the 
stony  ground  of  the  hillside. 

Mrs.  Crump  went  into  the  cabin,  bearing  the 
baby.  Somewhat  to  her  surprise,  she  found 
Thady  Shea  sitting  at  the  table,  enjoying  a 
hearty  meal  by  the  aid  of  Gilbert  and  Lewis 

"My  land,  Thady.  I  thought  ye  was  plumb 
laid  out.  So  ye've  come  back  at  last,  huh?  Well, 
set  steady  a  while  till  I  get  some  water  on  the 
stove — got  to  fix  this  here  baby  up  a  bit.  Pore 
little  critter!  Don't  know  when  I've  seen  a  baby 
chortle  like  this  here  one." 

Presently  she  had  disposed  the  baby  upon  her 
own  bunk,  and  found  that  the  two  men  had  gone. 
She  was  alone  in  the  shack  with  Thady  Shea  and 
the  baby.  She  went  to  the  table  and  extended 
her  hand. 

"Thady,"  she  said,  her  blue  eyes  moist,  "have 
— have  ye  forgiven  me  that  blow?" 

He  stood  awkwardly,  gripping  her  hand,  a  glow 
spreading  over  his  face  as  he  read  the  message  in 
her  eyes.  Seldom  had  he  seen  her  eyes  look  so 
tender,  so  womanly. 


242  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

"What  blow?  I  don't— oh !  Why,  I  had  really 
forgotten  it." 

"I  ain't.  It's  sore  mem'ry,"  said  Mrs.  Crump, 
bluntly.  "Thady,  when  that  varmint  told  that 
yarn  about  you  bein'  dead  and  so  on,  I  was  fixin' 
to  kill  him — yes,  I  was!  In  another  minute  I'd 
ha'  done  it,  too.  And  now,"  suddenly  her  voice 
became  crisp  and  harsh,  defiantly  harsh,  "what 
ye  mean  bringin'  that  baby  around  here?  D'you 
reckon  I  got  time  and  room  to  take  care  o'  babies?  " 

A  look  of  pained  astonishment  came  to  the 
man's  eye. 

"  Why — why,  I  intended  to  take  care  of  that  baby 
myself!     She  seemed  to  like  me " 

"Who  wouldn't,  ye  blunderin'  big  heart  of  a 
man!"  she  returned,  softly.  "Yes,  I  reckon  that 
baby  is  goin'  to  stay  right  here,  Thady  Shea.  I 
just  wanted  to  see  the  idea  in  your  mind,  and  now 
I  reckon  I  know.     Yes,  sir!     I  reckon  I  know." 

"You  don't  know — at  least  not  all  of  it."  Thady 
Shea  was  smiling  now,  smiling  down  into  her  eyes. 
"That  baby  is  dependent  on  me;  I'm  going  to 
make  her  happy!  And  she  isn't  all,  either.  I'm 
an  old  man  and  pretty  useless,  but — but  I  found 
a  big  purpose  that  has  drawn  me  back  here — and 
— and  I  want  to  tell  you " 

Out  upon  the  stony  hillside,  out  in  the  blinding 
white  sunlight,  Coravel  Tio  and  Thomas  Twofork 
were  standing  together.  In  his  hand  the  Indian 
held     something — something     fragmentary     and 


DORALES  RUNS  AWAY  243 

crushed,  something  that  glittered  like  broken 
needles  in  the  sunlight. 

"It  was  the  head  of  a  rattlesnake,"  said  Thomas 
Twofork,  meditatively,  "and  not  long  dead.  You 
see?  The  fangs  caught  in  his  arm.  The  two 
men  fell  and  ground  into  the  stones  the  arm  and 
fang  together;  the  fangs  were  ripped  along  his 
arm " 

"Ah,  yes!  It  is  very  wonderful."  Coravel  Tio 
began  to  roll  a  cigarette.  He  gazed  down  the 
canon  where  the  running  figure  of  Abel  Dorales 
had  disappeared,  and  speculation  filled  his  dreamy 
dark  eyes. 

'Was  there  any  poison  in  the  fangs?  Very 
likely,  Thomas  Twofork.  Perhaps  it  had  been 
there  in  the  moment  of  death;  beyond  doubt,  it 
had  been  there.  Was  it  dried  up,  too  dried  up  to 
take  effect?  Well,  we  do  not  know.  Soon,  in  a 
day  or  two,  we  shall  know.  One  thing  I  do  know, 
however — I  know  that  I  would  never  meddle 
with  the  gods  of  the  San  Marcos.     Eh?" 

Thomas  Twofork  was  a  college  graduate,  but 
he  was  first  an  Indian.  To  this  last  word  of  his 
companion  he  nodded  solemn  affirmation.  The 
two  men  turned  and  started  toward  the  shack; 
but  a  few  yards  from  the  doorway,  they  halted 
and  glanced  at  each  other.  From  the  building 
had  come  a  sudden  low  sound  of  a  woman  softly 
sobbing.  Into  the  eyes  of  Thomas  Twofork 
leaped  a  mute  question.     Coravel  Tio  answered 


244  THE  MESA  TRAIL 

with  a  gesture,  and  the  two  men  changed  their 
course  and  came  to  a  halt  near  the  automobiles. 

"Well?"  asked  the  Indian  a  moment  later. 
"Why  does  she  cry,  Coravel  Tio?  Has  that  man 
Shea  harmed  her?" 

Coravel  Tio  struck  a  match,  lighted  his  cigarette, 
broke  the  match  in  two,  and  gracefully  tossed 
away  the  fragments. 

"No,  he  has  not  harmed  her,"  he  said,  gently. 
"Yet  she  is  sobbing;  so,  perhaps,  is  he.  You  do 
not  understand  these  things,  Thomas  Twofork, 
but  I  am  a  philosopher.  I  understand  everything! 
I  have  expected  to  hear  the  senora  sob,  thus,  for 
some  time  past.  Now  it  has  happened.  All  is 
well." 

"Eh?"  The  Indian  scrutinized  him  in  per- 
plexity.    "But  what  does  it  mean?" 

"It  means,"  and  Coravel  Tio  smiled,  "that 
the  senora  is  very  happy!  She  has  found  both  a 
husband  and  a  child.      Adios!" 


THE      END 


THE   COUNTRY   LIFE   PRESS 
GARDEN   CITY,    N.    Y. 


14  DAY  USE 

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